But fallies oft' beyond his bounds,
And takes unmeasurable rounds.
When jefts are carried on too far,
And the loud laugh begins the war,
You keep your countenance for fhame,
Yet ftill you think your friend to blame :
For, though men cry they love a jest,
'Tis but when others ftand the teft;
And (would you have their meaning known)
They love a jeft that is their own.
You muft, although the point be nice,
Beftow your friend fome good advice :
One hint from you will fet him right,
And teach him how to be polite.
Bid him, like you, obferve with care,
Whom to be hard on, whom to fpare;
Nor indiftin&tly to suppose
All fubjects like Dan Jackfon's nofe *.
To ftudy the obliging jest,
By reading thofe who teach it beft;
For profe I recommend Voiture's,
For verfe (I fpeak my judgement) yours.
He'll find the fecret out from thence,
To rhyme all day without offence;
And I no more fhall then accufe
The flirts of his ill-manner'd Mufe.
If he be guilty, you must mend him ;
If he be innocent, defend him.
*Which was afterwards the fubject of feveral poems
ELANY reports it, and he has a shrewd tongue,
That we both act the part of the clown and
cow-dung;
We lye cramming ourfelves, and are ready to burft,
Yet ftill are no wifer than we were at first.
Pudet hæc opprobria, I freely muft tell ye,
Et dici potuiffe, et non potuiffe 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 past,
I fhall, 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 loft, by the impoflibility 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 modester 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 quarrelfome 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
the ground.
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 fome letters of business. I will fend you the reft when I have leifure: but pray come to dinner with the company you met here last.
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 watchful* Dragon,
Old Jafon would have less to brag on.
TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1718.
WHATE'ER your predeceffors 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 f
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 fays,
To take his greatest grandees for alles.
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: firft, Euripides
(An author where I fometimes dip a-days).
Is rightly cenfur'd by the Stagirite,
Who fays, his numbers do not fadge aright.
A friend of mine that author defpifes
So much, he fwears the very best piece is,
For aught he knows, as bad as Thefpis's;
And that a woman, in these tragedies,
Commonly fpeaking, but a fad jade is.
*The fact may be true; but the rhyme coft me foine
At least, I'm well affur'd, that no folk lays
The weight on him they do on Sophocles.
But, above all, I prefer Æfchylus,
Whole moving touches, when they please, kill us.
And now I find my Muse but ill able,
To hold out longer in Triffyllable.
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.
TELLA this day is thirty-four,
(We fha' n't difpute 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 pleafe the gods to split
Thy beauty, fize, and years, and wit !
No
age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs fo 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 (wain) To split my worship too in twain !
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