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TO Dr. SHERIDAN.
EAR Sheridan! a gentle Pair
Öf Gallstown Lads (for such they are) Besides a Brace of
Divines Adore the Smoothness of thy Lines; Smooth as our Bason's Silver Flood, E’er George had robb’d it of its Mud; Smoother than Pegasus' old Shoe, Eer Vulcan comes to make it 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 enuff) A Smoothing-İ’rn itself is ruff. Nor praise I less that Circumcision, By modern Poets calld Elision, Which in its proper Station plac't, Makes thy Verse smooth, and makes them laft. Thus, a wise Taylor is not pinching, But turns at ev'ry Seam an Inch in; Or else, be sure, your Broad-cloth Breeches Will ne'er be smooth, nor hold the Stitches. Thy Verse, like Bricks, defies 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
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 Thew their Labour, you May backward be perus'd like Hebrew, Wherein they need not lose a Bit, Or, of thy Harmony or Wit, To make a Work compleatly fine, Number and Weight and Measure join ; Then all must grant your Lines are weighty, , Where thirty weigh as much as eighty.
All All must allow
A REBUS, written by a * LADY, on the
Reverend Dr. SWIFT.
YUT the Name of the Man 70--sepb.
who his Mistress deny'd, And let the first of it be only
apply'd To join with the PROPHET who Nathan.
DAVID did chide. Then say what a Horse is that runs very fast, And that which deserves to be first put the
Spell all then, and put them together to find The Name and the Virtue of Him I design’d. Like the Patriarch in Egypt, he's vers’d in the
State, Like the Prophet in Yeury, he's free with the Great,
Like * Mrs. Vanhomrigh.
Like a Racer he flies to succour with Speed,
HE NYMPH who wrote this in an
Thus much for the Verse, we proceed to the
next, Where the Nymph hath entirely forsaken her
Text : Her fine Panegyricks are quite out of Season, And what She describes to be Merit is Treason : The Changes which Faction hath made in the
State, Have put the Dean's Politicks quite out of
Date : Now no one regards what he utters with
Freedom, And shou'd he write Pamphlets, no Great Map
wou'd read 'em ; And shou'd Want or Desert stand in need of
his Aid, This Racer wou'd prove but a dull founderdh