Maggoty Johnson
Visitors to Gawsworth might be curious as to why a single tomb lies in a small spinney known as Maggoty Wood. Samuel Johnson (1691-1773), also known as Maggoty Johnson and Lord Flame, was a dancing master and dramatist, best know for the nonsense play “Hurlothrumbo”. It is noted that he was one of England’s last professional jesters, employed by the Lord of the manor at Gawsworth Old Hall. He was a talented musician and his violin remains on display in the dining room of the Old Hall.
In retirement he lived in Gawsworth New Hall, a gift to him by the Lord of Manor and upon his death was was buried in the churchyard. However it was discovered that his wish was to be buried in the vault he had designed and built in the woods he used to visit with his servant. He was disinterred and reburied in the area now known as Maggoty Wood. Upon his grave is a stone bearing an inscription thought to be written by Samuel himself, with a further stone added in 1851 bearing another inscription.
Original Inscription
Rest the Remains of Mr SAMUEL JOHNSON
Afterwards ennobled with the grander Title of LORD FLAME
Who after having been in his Life distinct from other Men
By the Eccentricities of his Genius
Chose to retain the same Character after his Death
And was, at his own Desire, buried here May 5th
A.D. MDCCLXXIII aged 82.
“Stay, thou whom Chance directs or ease persuades,
To seek the Quiet of these Sylvan shades,
Here, undesturbed and hid from Vulgar Eyes,
A Wit, Musician, Poet, Player, lies
A Dancing master too in Grace he shone,
And all the arts of Opera were his own,
In Comedy well skilled he drew Lord Flame,
Acted the Part and gaind himself the Name,
Averse to Strife how oft he’d gravely say,
These peaceful Groves should shade his breathless Clay,
That, when he rose again, laid here alone,
No friend and he should quarrel for a Bone,
Thinking that were some old lame Gossip nigh,
She possibly might take his Leg or Thigh.
1851 Inscription
If chance hath brought thee here, or curious eyes,
To see the spot where this poor jester lies,
A thoughtless jester even in his death,
Uttering his jibes beyond his latest breath,
O stranger pause a moment, pause and say:
“Tomorrow should’st thou quit thy house of clay,
Where wilt thou be my soul? in paradise?
Or where the rich man Lifted up his eyes”.
Immortal spirit would’st thou then be blest,
Waiting thy perfect bliss on Abraham’s breast,
Boast not of silly art or wit or fame,
Be thou ambitious of a Christian’s name,
Seek not thy body’s rest in peaceful grove,
Pray that thy soul may rest in Jesus love,
O speak not lightly of that dreadful day,
When all must rise in joy or dismay.
When spirits pure in body glorified,
With Christ in heavenly mansions shall abide,
While wicked souls shall hear the Judges boom,
“Go ye accursed into endless gloom”,
Look on that stone and this, and ponder well,
Then choose twixt Life and Death,
Heaven and Hell.