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The torrent mercilefs imbibes

Commiffions, perquifites, and bribes ;

By their own weight funk to the bottom;

"Much good may't do 'em that have caught 'em." And Midas now neglected ftands

With affes' ears and dirty hands.

81

The Reverend Dr. SHERIDAN to

DEAR

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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 noddle this morn

ing,

my

6

In bed as I lay, Sir, a toffing and turning.
You'll find, if you read but a few of your hiftories,
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 Bel-phagor.
But that will not do, for I mean to commend 'em :
I fwear without jeft I an honour intend 'em.
In a fieve, Sir, their ancient extraction I quite tell,
In a riddle I give your their power and their title.
This I told you before, do you know what I mean,
Sir?

*Not I, by my troth, Sir."

gain, Sir.

ΙΟ

Then read it a

The reafon I fend you thefe lines of rhymes double, Is purely through pity to fave you the trouble

*The Dean's anfwer.

16

Of

Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did laft; When your Pegafus canter'd in triple, and rid faft.

20

As for my little nag, which I keep at Parnaffus, With Phoebus's leave, to run with his affes, He goes flow and fure, and he never is jaded; While your fiery fteed is whipp'd, fpurr'd, baftinaded.

Dean SWIFT's, anfwer to the Reverend Dr. SHERIDAN.

SIR,

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.

A woman's no fieve, (for with that you begin), Because the lets out more than e'er fhe takes in, 6 And that she's a riddle, can never be right; For a riddle is dark, but a woman is light. But grant her a fieve, I can fay fomething archer; Pray what is a man? he's a fine linen fearcher. 10

Now tell me a thing that wants interpretation, What name for a maid *, was the firft man's damnation?

If your worthip will please to explain me this rebus, 1 fwear from henceforward you fhall be my Phoebus,

From my hackney-coach, Sept. 11.

1712, past 12 at noon.

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A LETTER to the Rev. Dr. SHERIDAN.

SIR,

Written in the year 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 coinic Ariftophanes,

The rogue too bawdy and too profane 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 ufed, as Horace fays,
To take his greateft grandees for affes.

Poets, in those days, used to venture high;
But these are loft full many a century.

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Thus you may fee, dear friend, ex pede hence 15 My judgement of the old comedians.

Proceed to tragics, 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 wears the very best piece is,
For aught he knows, as bad as Thefpis's;

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*N. B. The Strand in London. The fact may be falfe, but the rhyme coft me fome trouble,

And

And that a woman, in those tragedies,
Commonly fpeaking, but a fad jade is.
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,

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Whofe moving touches, when they please, kill us..

And now I find my mufe but ill able
To hold out longer in trifyllable.

I chose these rhymes out, for their difficulty:
Will you return as hard ones if I call t'ye ?

30

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Written in the year 1713, when the Queen's minifters were quarrelling among themselves *.

Bferve the dying father speak :

Try, lads, can you this bundle break;
Then bids the youngest of the fix
Take up a well-bound heap of sticks,
They thought it was an old man's maggot;
And ftrove by turns to break the faggot :
In vain the complicated wands
Were much too ftrong for all their hands.
See, faid the fire, how foon 'tis done :
Then took and broke them one by one,
So ftrong you'll be, in friendship ty'd;
So quickly broke, if you divide.

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* See more of the author's endeavours to procure a reconcilement among them, in the letters to and from Dr. Swift, in vol. 9.

See also free thoughts on the prefent ftate of affairs.

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VERSE

Keep close then, boys, and never quarrel.
Here ends the fable and the moral.

L

This tale may be apply'd in few words
To treasurers, comptrollers, ftewards,
And others, who in folemn fort
Appear with flender wands at court :
Not firmly join'd to keep their ground,
But lafhing one another round:
While wife men think they ought to fight
With quarter-ftaves, inftead of white;
Or conftable with staff of peace,

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Should come and make the clatt'ring ceafe;
Which now difturbs the Queen and court,
And gives the Whigs and rabble sport.

The Conful's fafces* were unbound;

In history we never found,

Thefe Romans were too wife to think on't,
Except to lafh fome grand delinquent.
How would they blush to hear it said,
The Prætor broke the Conful's head;
Or Conful in his purple gown,

2.5

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Came up and knock'd the Prætor down.

Come, courtiers; every man his stick :

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Lord Treasurer t, for once be quick;

And that they may the clofer cling,
Take your blue ribbon for a ftring.

Come, trimming Harcourt ‡, bring your mace;
And fqueeze it in, or quit your place :
Difpatch; or elfe that rafcal Northey

Will undertake to do it for thee:

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*Fafces, a burdle of rods or fmall sticks carried before the Confuls

at Rome.

+ Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford.

Lord Chancellor.

Sir Edward Northey, Attorney-General, brought in by Lord Harcourt, yet very defirous of the great feal.

And

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