A shilling in the bath you fling;

The silver takes a nobler hue, By magic virtue in the spring,

And seems a guinea to your view. But, as a guinea will not pass

At market for a farthing more, Shown through a multiplying-glass, Than what it always did before: So cast it in the Southern seas,

Or view it through a jobber's bill; Put on what spectacles you please, Your guinea 's but a guinea still. One night a fool into a brook

Thus from a hillock looking down, The golden stars for guineas took, And silver Cynthia for a crown. The point he could no longer doubt; He ran, he leapt into the flood; There sprawl'd awhile, and scarce got out, All cover'd o'er with slime and mud.

Upon the water cast thy bread,

And after many days thou 'lt find it ;" But gold upon this ocean spread

Shall sink, and leave no mark behind it..
There is a gulph, where thousands fell,

Here all the bold adventurers came,
A narrow sound, though deep as Hell;
'Change Alley is the dreadful name.
Nine times a day it ebbs and flows;
Yet he that on the surface lies,
Without a pilot seldom knows

The time it falls, or when 'twill rise.
Subscribers here by thousands float
And jostle one another down;
Each padding in his leaky boat;

And here they fish for gold, and drown. "Now bury'd in the depth below,

Now mounted up to Heaven again,
They reel and stagger to and fro,

At their wits end, like drunken men 1."
Mean time secure on Garraway 2 cliffs,
A savage race by shipwrecks fed,
Lie waiting for the founder'd skiffs,

And strip the bodies of the dead.

But these, you say, are factions lies,

From some malicious Tory's brain;

For, where directors get a prize,

The Swiss and Dutch whole millions drain. Thus, when by rooks a lord is ply'd, Some cully often wins a bet, By venturing on the cheating side, Though not into the secret let. While some build castles in the air, Directors build them in the seas; Subscribers plainly see them there,

For fools will see as wise men please. Thus oft by mariners are shown

(Unless the men of Kent are liars) Earl Godwin's castles overflown,

And palace-roofs, and steeple-spires. Mark where the sly directors creep, Nor to the shore approach too nigh!

1 Psalm cvii.

A coffee-house in 'Change-Alley.

The monsters nestle in the deep,
To seize you in your passing by.
Then, like the dogs of Nile, be wise,
Who, taught by instinct how to shun
The crocodile, that lurking lies,

Run as they drink, and drink and run. Antæus could, by magic charms,

Recover strength whene'er he fell; Alcides held him in his arms,

And sent him up in air to Hell. Directors, thrown into the sea,

Recover strength and vigour there; But may be tam'd another way, Suspended for a while in air. Directors! for 'tis you I warn,

By long experience we have found
What planet rul'd when you were born;
We see you never can be drown'd.
Beware, nor over-bulky grow,

Nor come within your cully's reach;
For, if the sea should sink so low
To leave you dry upon the beach,
You'll owe your ruin to your bulk :
Your foes already waiting stand,
To tear you like a founder'd hulk,

While you lie helpless on the sand.
Thus, when a whale has lost the tide,

The coasters crowd to seize the spoil; The monster into parts divide,

And strip the bones, and melt the oil. Oh! may some western tempest sweep These locusts whom our fruits have fed, That plague, directors, to the deep,

Driv'n from the South-Sea to the Red! May he, whom Nature's laws obey,

Who lifts the poor, and sinks the proud, "Quiet the raging of the sea,

And still the madness of the crowd!"
But never shall our isle have rest,
Till those devouring swine run down,
(The devils leaving the possest)

And headlong in the waters drown.
The nation then too late will find,
Computing all their cost and trouble,
Directors' promises but wind,
South-Sea at best a mighty bubble.

THE DOG AND SHADOW.

ORE cibum portans catulus dum spectat in undis,
Apparet liquido przede melioris imago:
Dan speciosa diu damna admiratur, et alte
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice præceps
Ore cibus, nec non simulachrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avibus deceptis faucibus umbram;
Illudit species, ac dentibus aëra mordet.

TO A FRIEND,

WHO HAD BEEN MUCH ABUSED IN MANY
DIFFERENT LIBELS.

Tur greatest monarch may be stabb'd by night,
And fortune help the murderer in his flight;

OUR set of strollers, wandering up and down,
Hearing the house was empty, came to town;
And, with a licence from our good lord mayor,
Went to one Griffith, formerly a player;
Him we persuaded, with a moderate bribe,
To speak to Elrington and all the tribe,
To let our company supply their places,

And hire us out their scenes, and clothes, and faces.
Is not the truth the truth? Look full on me;
I am not Elrington, nor Griffith he.

When we perform, look sharp among our crew,
There's not a creature here you ever knew.
The former folks were servants to the king;
We, humble strollers, always on the wing.
Now, for my part, I think upon the whole,
Rather than starve, a better man would stroll.
Stay, let me see-Three hundred pounds a year,
For leave to act in town! 'Tis plaguy dear.
Now, here's a warrant; gallants, please to mark,
For three thirteens and sixpence to the clerk.
Three hundred pounds! Were I the price to fix,
The public should bestow the actors six.
A score of guineas, given under-hand,
For a good word or so, we understand.
To help an honest lad that 's out of place,
May cost a crown or so; a common case:
And, in a crew, 'tis no injustice thought
To ship a rogue, and pay him not a groat.
But, in the chronicles of former ages,
Who ever heard of servants paying wages?
I pity Elrington with all my heart;
Would he were here this night to act my part!
I told him what it was to be a stroller;
How free we acted, and had no comptroller:
In every town we wait on Mr. Mayor,
First get a licence, then produce our ware;
We sound a trumpet, or we beat a drum;
Huzza! (the school-boys roar) the players are come
And then we cry, to spur the bumpkius on,
Gallants, by Tuesday next we must be gone

I told him, in the smoothest way I could,
All this and more, yet it would do no good.
But Elrington, tears falling from his cheeks,
He that has shone with Betterton and Wilks,
To whom our country has been always dear,
Who chose to leave his dearest pledges here,
Owns all your favours, here intends to stay,
And as a stroller, act in every play:
And the whole crew this resolution takes,
To live and die all strollers for your sakes:
Not frighted with an ignominious name,
For your displeasure is their only shame.
A pox on Elrington's majestic tone!
Now to a word of business in our own.

Gallants, next Thursday night will be our last;
Then, without fail, we pack up for Belfast.
Lose not your time, nor our diversions miss,
The next we act shall be as good as this.

EPIGRAM.

GREAT folks are of a finer mould;
Lord! how politely they can scold!

While a coarse English tongue will itch
For whore and rogue, and dog and bitch.

ΤΟ

PROLOGUE

A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRESSED
WEAVERS. BY DR. SHERIDAN.

SPOKEN BY MR. ELRINGTON, 1721.
GREAT cry and little wool-is now become
The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom :
No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp;
Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp.
Provok'd, in loud complaints to you they cry:
Ladies, relieve the weavers; or they die!
Forsake your silks for stuffs; nor think it strange
To shift your clothes, since you delight in change.
One thing with freedom I'll presume to tell-
The men will like you every bit as well.

See, I am drest from top to toe in stuff; And, by my troth, I think I 'm fine enough: My wife admires me more, and swears she never, In any dress, beheld me look so clever. And, if a man be better in such ware, What great advantage must it give the fair! Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds: Silks come from maggots, callicoes from weeds: Hence 'tis by sad experience that we find Ladies in silks to vapours much inclin❜dAnd what are they but maggots in the mind? For which I think it reason to conclude That clothes may change our temper like our food. Chintzes are gawdy, and engage our eyes Too much about the party-colour'd dyes: Although the lustre is from you begun, We see the rainbow, and neglect the Sun.

How sweet and innocent 's the country maid, With small expense in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her shepherd with delight she's seen! Should our fair ladies dress like her in wool, How much more lovely, and how beautiful,

Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove, Whilst wool would help to warm us into love! Then like the famous Argonauts of Greece, We'd all contend to gain the Golden Fleece!

EPILOGUE, BY THE DEAN.

SPOKEN BY MR. GRIFFITH.

WHO dares affirm this is no pious age,
When charity begins to tread the stage?
When actors, who at best, are hardly savers,
Will give a night of benefit to weavers?
Stay-let me see, how finely will it sound!
Imprimis, From his grace 1 an hundred pound.
Peers, clergy, gentry, all are benefactors;
And then comes in the item of the actors.
Item, The actors freely gave a day--
The poet had no more who made the play.

But whence this wondrous charity in players?
They learnt it not at sermons, or at prayers :
Under the rose, since here are none but friends,
(To own the truth) we have some private ends.
Since waiting-women, like exacting jades,
Hold up the prices of their old brocades;
We'll dress in manufactures made at home,
Equip our kings and generals at The Comb 2.
We'll rig from Meath-street Egypt's haughty queen,
And Antony shall court her in ratteen.
In blue shalloon shall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple plaid.
In drugget drest, of thirteen pence a yard,
See Philip's son amidst his Persian guard;
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous rage,
With fifty yards of crape shall sweep the stage.
In short, our kings and princesses within
Are all resolv'd this project to begin;
And you, our subjects, when you here resort,
Must imitate the fashion of the court.

Oh! could I see this audience clad in stuff, Though money's scarce, we should have trade enough: But chintze, brocades, and lace, take all away, And scarce a crown is left to see a play. Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship springs Between the weavers and us play-house kings; But wit and weaving had the same beginning; Pallas first taught us poetry and spinning: And, next, observe how this alliance fits, For weavers now are just as poor as wits: Their brother quill-men, workers for the stage, For sorry stuff can get a crown a page; But weavers will be kinder to the players, And sell for twenty-pence a yard of theirs. And, to your knowledge, there is often less in The poet's wit, than in the player's dressing.

The pencil clothes the Nine in bright brocades,
And gives each colour to the pictur'd maids;
Far above mortal-dress the sisters shine,
Pride in their Indian robes, and must be fine.
And shall two bards in concert rhyme and huff,
And fret these Muses with their play-house stuff?
The player in mimic piety may storm,
Deplore the Comb, and bid her heroes arm:
The arbitrary mob, in paltry rage,

May curse the belles and chintzes of the age:
Yet still the artist worm her silk shall share,
And spin her thread of life in service of the fair.
The cotton-plant, whom satire cannot blast,
Shall bloom the favourite of these realms, and last;
Like yours, ye fair, her fame from censure grows,
Prevails in charms, and glares above her foes:
Your injur'd plaut shall meet a loud defence,
And be the emblem of your innocence.

Some bard, perhaps, whose landlord was a weaver,
Penn'd the low prologue, to return a favour:
Some neighbour wit, that would be in the vogne,
Work'd with his friend, and wove the epilogue.
Who weaves the chaplet, or provides the bays,
For such wool-gathering sonnetteers as these?
Hence then, ye home-spun witlings, that persuade
Miss Chloe to the fashion of her maid.
Shall the wide hoop, that standard of the town,
Who 'd smell of wool all over? 'Tis enough
Thus act subservient to a poplin gown?
The under-petticoat be made of stuff.
Lord! to be wrapt in flannel just in May,
When the fields dress'd in flowers appear so gay!
And shall not miss be flower'd as well as they?

In what weak colours would the plaid appear, Work'd to a quilt, or studded in a chair! The skin, that vies with silk, would fret with stuff; Or who could bear in bed a thing so rough? Ye knowing fair, how eininent that bed, Where the chintze diamonds with the silken thread, Where rustling curtains call the curious eye, And boast the streaks and paintings of the sky! Of flocks they'd have your milky ticking full; And all this for the benefit of wool!

weavers,

"But where," say they, "shall we bestow these [cravers?" That spread our streets, and are such piteous The silk-worms (brittle beings!) prone to fate, Demand their care to make their webs complete: These may they tend, their promises receive; We cannot pay too much for what they give!

ON GAULSTOWN HOUSE.

BY DR. DELANY 1.

'Tis so old, and so ugly, and yet so convenient, You 're sometimes in pleasure, though often in pain in 't:

'Tis so large, you may lodge a few friends with

ease in 't:

You may turn and stretch at your length if you please in 't:

1 The seat of George Rochfort, esq. (father to the earl of Belvidere); where Dr. Swift and an agreeable set of friends spent part of the summer of

1721.

E E

'Tis so little, the family live in a press in 't, And poor lady Betty 2 has scarce room to dress in 't: 'Tis so cold in the winter, you can't bear to lie in 't; And so hot in the summer, you 're ready to fry in 't: 'Tis so brittle, 'twould scarce bear the weight of a tun;

Yet so stanch, that it keeps out a great deal of sun: 'Tis so crazy, the weather with ease beats quite through it, [new it.

And you 're forc'd every year in some part to re'Tis so ugly, so useful, so big, and so little; 'Tis so stanch, and so crazy, so strong, and so brittle;

'Tis at one time so hot, and another so cold;
It is part of the new, and part of the old;

It is just half a blessing, and just half a curse—
I wish then, dear George, it were better or worse.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

PART OF A SUMMER SPENT AT CAULSTOWNHOUSE.

THALIA, tell in sober lays,

[days;

How George 1, Nim 2, Dan 2, Dean 1, pass their
And, should our Gaulstown's art grow fallow,
Yet meget quis carmina Gallo ?

Here (by the way) by Gallus mean I
Not Sheridan, but friend Delany.

Begin, my Muse. First from our bowers
We sally forth at different hours;

At seven the Dean, in night-gown drest,
Goes round the house to wake the rest;
At nine, grave Nim, and George facetious,
Go to the Dean, to read Lucretias;
At ten, my lady comes and heetors,
And kisses George, and ends our lectures;
And when she has him by the neck fast,
Halls him, and scolds us down to breakfast.
We squander there an hour or more,
And then all hands, boys, to the car;
All, heteroclite Dan except,
Who neither time nor order kept,
But, by peculiar whimsies drawn,
Peeps in the ponds to look for spawn;
O'ersees the work, or Dragon 5 rows,
Or mars a text, or mends bis hose;
O--but proceed we in our journal-
At two, or after, we return all:
From the four elements assembling,

Warn'd by the bell, all folks come trembling:
From airy garrets some descend,
Some from the lake's remotest end:
My lord and Dean the tire forsake;
Dan leaves the carthly spade av 11.ke:
The loiterers quake, no corner hides them,
And lady Betty soundly chides them.

2 Daughter to the earl of Drogheda, and the wife of Mr. Rochfort.

Mr. Rochfort.

2 His brother, Mr. John Rochfort, who was called Nimrod, from his great attachment to the chase. Rev. Daniel Jackson. 4 Dr. Swift.

5 A small boat so called.

6 Mr. Rochfort's father was lord chief baron of

the exchequer in Ireland,

Now water's brought, and dinner's done :
With "Church and King" the lady 's gone;
(Not reckoning half an hour we pass
In talking o'er a moderate glass).
Dan, growing drowsy, like a thief
Steals off to dose away his beef;
And this must pass for reading Hammond-
While George and Dean go to back-gammon.
George, Nim, and Dean, set out at four,
And then again, boys, to the oar.
But when the Sun goes to the deep,
(Not to disturb him in his sleep,
Or make a rumbling o'er his head,
His candle out, and he a-bed)

We watch his motions to a minute,
And leave the flood when he goes in it.
Now stinted in the shortening day,
We go to prayers, and then to play,
Till supper comes; and after that
We sit an hour to drink and chat.
Tis late-the old and younger pairs,
By Adam 7 lighted, walk up stairs.
The weary Dean goes to his chamber;
And Nim and Dan to garret clamber.
So when the circle we have run,
The curtain falls, and all is done.

I might have mention'd sev'ral facts,
Like episodes between the acts;
And tell who loses and who wins,
Who gets a cold, who breaks his shins;
How Dan caught nothing in his net,
And how the boat was overset.
For brevity I have retrench'd

How in the lake the Dean was drench'd:
It would be an exploit to brag on,
How valiant George rode o'er the Dragon;
How stealy in the storm he sat,

And say'd his oar, but lost his bat :
How Nim (no hunter e'er could match him)
Sull brings us hares, when he can catch them:
How skilfully Dan mends his nets;
How fortune fails him when he sets:
Or how the Dean delights to vex
The lies, and lampoon their sex.

I might have told how oft' dean Percivale
Displays his pedantry unmerciful;
How baughtily he cocks his nose,
To tell what every school-boy knows ;
And with his finger and his thumb,
Explaining, strikes opposers dumb :

But now there needs no more be said on 't, a
Nor how his wife, that female pedant,
Shows all her secrets of housekeeping;
For candles how she trucks her dripping;
Was fore'd to send three miles for yeast,
To brew her ale, and raise her paste;
Tells every thing that you can think of,
How she cur'd Charly of the chin-cough;
What gave her brats and pigs the measles,
And how her doves were kill'd by weasels;
How Jowler howl'd, and what a fright
She had with dreams the other night.

But now, since I have gone so far on,
A word or two of lord chief baron;
And tell how little weight he sets
On all whig papers and gazettes;
But for the politics of Pue,
Thinks every syllable is true.

7 The butler,

And since he owns the king of Sweden
Is dead at last without evading,
Now all his hopes are in the Czar :
"Why, Muscovy is not so far:

Down the Black Sea, and up the Streights,
And in a month he 's at your gates;
Perhaps, from what the packet brings,
By Christmas we shall see strange things."
Why should I tell of ponds and drains,
What carps we met with for our pains;
Of sparrows tam'd, and nuts innumerable

To choke the girls, and to consume a rabble?
But you, who are a scholar, know
How transient all things are below,
How prone to change is human life!
Last night arriv'd Clem 8 and his wife-

This grand event hath broke our measures;
Their reign began with cruel seizures:
The Dean must with his quilt supply
The bed in which those tyrants lie:
Nim lost his wig-block, Dan his jordan
(My lady says, she can't afford one);
George is half-scar'd out of his wits,
For Clem gets all the dainty bits.
Henceforth expect a different survey,
This house will soon turn topsy-turvey:
They talk of further alterations,
Which causes many speculations.

THOMAS SHERIDAN, CLERK,

TO GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN, ES2.

JULY 15, 1721, AT NIGHT.

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S ANSWER.

DEAR Sheridan! a gentle pair

Of Gaulstown lads (for such they are),
Besides a brace of grave divines,
Adore the smoothness of thy lines;
Smooth as our bason's silver flood,
Ere George had robb'd it of its mud;
Smoother than Pegasus' old shoe,
Ere Vulcan comes to make him new.
The board on which we set our a-s,
Is not so smooth as are thy verses,
Compar'd with which (and that's enough)
A smoothing iron itself is rough.
Nor praise I less that circumcision,
By modern poets call'd elision,
With which, in proper station plac'd,
Thy polish'd lines are firmly brac'd.
Thus a wise taylor is not pinching,
But turns at every seam an inch in ;
Or else, be sure, your broad-cloth breeches
Will ne'er be smooth, nor hold their stitches,
Thy verse, like bricks, defy the weather,
When smooth'd by rubbing them together;
Thy words so closely wedg'd and short are
Like walls, more lasting without mortar :
By leaving out the needless vowels,
You save the charge of lime and trowels.
One letter still another locks,
Each groov'd and dovetail'd like a box.
Thy Muse is tuckt-up and succinct ;

In chains thy syllables are linkt;

Thy words together ty'd in small hanks,
Close as the Macedonian phalanx ;

Or like the umbo of the Romans,

1

Which fiercest foes could break by no means.

The critic to his grief will find,
How firmly these indentures bind.

and Nim 4,

That I've learned how verse t' compose trim,
Much better b' half th'n you, n'r you, n'r him,
And th't I'd rid`cule their 'nd your flam flim.
Ay' b't then, p'rhaps, says you, t's a m'rry whim
With 'bundance of mark'd notes i' th' rim,
So th't I ought n't for t' be morose 'nd t' look grim,
Think n't your 'p'stle put m' in a meagrim;
Though 'n rep't't'on day, I 'ppear ver' slim,
Th' last bowl 't Helsham's did m' head t' swim,
So th't I h'd man' aches 'n 'v'ry scrubb'd limb,
Cause th' top of th' bowf I h`d oft us'd t' skim;
And b'sides D'lan' swears th't I h'd swall'w'd s'v'r'l

brim

mers, 'nd that my vis'ge 's cover'd o'er with r'd pinples: m'r'o'er thongh m' scull were (s' tis n't) 's strong's tim

ber, 't must have ak'd. Th' clans of th' c'lledge Sanh'drim,

Pres'n't the'r humbl' and 'fect'nate respects; that's t' say, D'lan', 'chlin, P. Ludl', Die' St'wart, H'lsham, capt'n P'rr' Walmsl', 'nd Longsh'nks Timm 5.

Mr Clement Barry.

1 Geo. Rochfort.

2 Mr. Jackson.

3 Dr. Swift.

4 J. Rochfort.

5 Dr. James Stopford, afterwards bishop of Cloyne.

The shortening is the nicest part.

Philologers of future ages,
How will they pore upon thy pages
Nor will they dare to break the joints,
But help thee to be read with points:
Or else, to show their learned labour, you
May backward be perus'd like Hebrew,
Where they need not lose a bit
Or of thy harmony or wit

To make a work completely fine,
Number and weight and measure join;
Then all must grant your lines are weighty,
Where thirty weigh as much as eighty.
All must allow your numbers more,
Where twenty lines exceed fourscore;
Nor can we think your measure short,
Where less than forty fill a quart,
With Alexandrian in the close,
Long, long, long, long, like Dan's long nose.

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S

INVITATION TO THOMAS SHERIDAN.

Gaulstown, Aug. 2d, 1721. DEAR Tom, this verse, which, however the begin▪ ning may appear, yet in the end 's good metre,

Is sent to desire that, when your August vacation comes, your fi.ends you'd get here.

EE 2