DELANY reports it, and he has a shrewd tongue,
That we both act the part of the clown and
We lye cramming ourselves, and are ready to burft,
Yet still are no wiser than we were at first.
Pudet hæc opprobria, I freely must tell ye,
Et dici potuiffe, et non potuisse refelli.
Though Delany advis'd you to plague me no longer,
You reply and rejoin like Hoadly of Bangor.
I must now, at one fitting, pay off my old fcore;
How many to answer? One, two, three, four.
But, because the three former are long ago paft,
I shall, for method fake, begin with the last.
You treat me like a boy that knocks down his foe,
Who, ere t'other gets up, demands the rifing b'ow.
Yet I know a young rogue, that, thrown flat on the field,
Would, as he lay under, cry out, Sirrah! yield.
So the French, when our Generals foundly did pay them:
Went triumphant to church, and fang ftoutly Te Deum.
So the famous Tom Leigh, when quite run aground,
Comes off by out-laughing the company round.
In every vile pamphlet you 'll read the fame fancies,
Having thus overthrown all our further advances.
* The humour of this poem is partly lost, by the impoffibility of printing it left-handed as it was written.
My offers of peace you ill understood :
Friend Sheridan, when will you know your own good? 'Twas to teach you in modefter language your duty;
For, were you a dog, I could not be rude t'ye :
As a good quiet foul, who no mischief intends
To a quarrelsome fellow, cries, Let us be friends.
But we like Antæus and Hercules fight,
The oftener you fall, the oftener you write;
And I'll use you as he did that overgrown clown,
I'll first take you up, and then take you down:
And, 'tis your own cafe, for you never can wound
The worst dunce in your school, till he 's heav'd from
I beg your pardon for using my left-hand, but I was in great haste, and the other hand was employed at the fame time in writing some letters of business. - I will fend you the rest when I have leifure: but pray come to dinner with the company you met here laft.
A MOTTO for Mr. JASON HASARD, WOOLLEN DRAPER in DUBLIN;
Whose Sign was the GOLDEN-FLEECE.
ASON, the valiant prince of Greece,
From Colchos brought the Golden Fleece:
We comb the wool, refine the stuff,
For modern Jafon, that's enough.
Oh! could we tame yon quatchful* Dragon,
Old Jafon would have lefs to brag on.
TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1718.
WHATE'ER your predecessors taught us,
I have a great esteem for Plautus;
And think your boys may gather there-hence
More wit and humour than from Terence.
But as to comic Ariftophanes,
The rogue too vicious and too prophane is.
I went in vain to look for Eupolis
Down in the Strand *, just where the New Pole is;
For I can tell you one thing, that I can
(You will not find it in the Vatican).
He and Cratinus us'd, as Horace says,
To take his greatest grandees for affes.
Poets, in those days, us'd to venture high;
But these are loft full many a century.
Thus you may fee, dear friend, ex pede hence,
My judgement of the old Comedians.
Proceed to Tragicks: first, Euripides
(An author where I sometimes dip a-days)
Is rightly cenfur'd by the Stagirite,
Who says, his numbers do not fadge aright.
A friend of mine that author defpifes
So much, he swears the very best piece is,
For aught he knows, as bad as Thespis's;
And that a woman, in these tragedies,
Commonly speaking, but a fad jade is.
* The fact may be true; but the rhyme cost me fome
At least, I 'm well assur'd, that no folk lays
The weight on him they do on Sophocles.
But, above all, I prefer Æfchylus,
Whose moving touches, when they please, kill us.
And now I find my Muse but ill able,
To hold out longer in Trissyllable.
I chose those rhymes out for their difficulty;
Will you return as hard ones if I call t'ye?
STELLA'S BIRTH-DAY,
MARCH 13, 1718-19.
STELLA this day is thirty-four,
(We sha' n't dispute a year or more) :
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy fize and years are doubled,
Since first I faw thee at fixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green:
So little is thy form declin'd;
Made up fo largely in thy mind.
Oh, would it please the gods to fplit
Thy beauty, fize, and years, and wit !
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wife, and fair;
With half the luftre of your eyes,
With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate
(That either nymph might have her swain)
To split my worship too in twain !
DR. SHERIDAN TO DR. SWIFT. 1719.
EAR Dean, fince in cruxes and puns you and I deal,
Pray why is a woman a fieve and a riddle ?
"Tis a thought that came into my noddle this morning,
In bed as I lay, Sir, a-toffing and turning.
You 'll find, if you read but a few of your histories,
All women as Eve, all women are mysteries.
To find out this riddle I know you 'll be eager,
And make every one of the fex a Belphegor.
But that will not do, for I mean to .commend them:
I swear without jest I an honour intend them.
In a fieve, Sir, their antient extraction I quite tell,
In a riddle I give you their power and their title.
This I told you before: do you know what I mean, Sar?
"Not I, by my troth, Sir." - Then read it again, Sir.
The reason I fend you these lines of rhymes double
Is purely through pity, to save you the trouble
Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did last;
When your Pegalus canter'd it triple, and rid faft.
As for my little nag, which I keep at Parnaffus,
With Phœbus's leave, to run with his asses,
He goes flow and fure, and he never is jaded,
While your fiery steed is whipp'd, spurr'd, bastinaded.
THE DEAN'S ANSWER.
IN reading your letter alone in my hackney,
Your damnable riddle my poor brains did rack nigh.
And when with much labour the matter I crackt,
I found you mistaken in matter of fact.
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