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TO Dr. SHERIDAN.

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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 ;

grave

By leaving out the needless Vowels
You save the Charge of Lime and Trowels.
One Letter still another locks,
Each groov'd, and dove-tail'd like a Box.
Thy Muse is tuckt up and succinct,
In Chains the Syllables are linkt.
Thy Words together ty'd in small Hanks
Close as the Macedonian Phalanx ;
Or like the Umbo of the Romans,
Which fiercest Foes could break by no Means.
The Critick to his Grief will find
How firmly those Indentures bind :
So, in the kindred Painter's Art
The short'ning 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 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

your
Numbers

more,
Where twenty Lines exceed fourscore
Nor can we think your Measure short
Where less than forty fill the Quart;
With Alexandrine in the Close,
Long, long, long, long, like Dan's long Nose.

A REBUS, written by a * LADY, on the

Reverend Dr. SWIFT.

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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

last;

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,
When his Friends want his Aid, or Defert is

in Need.

His ANSWER.

THE

HE NYMPH who wrote this in an

amorous Fit,
I cannot but envy the Pride of her Wit,
Which thus she will venture profusely to throw,
On so mean a Design, and a Subject fo low.
For mean's her Dengn, and her Subject as mean,
The first but a Rebus, the last but a Dean ::
A Dean's but a Parson ; and what is a Rebus ?
A Thing never known to the Muses or Phæbus :
The Corruption of Verse, for when all is done,
It is but a Paraphrase made on a Punn ;
But a Genius like her's no Subject can stifle,
It shews and discovers itself through a Trifle.
By reading this Trifle, I quickly began
To find ber a Wit, but the Dean a small Man.
Rich Ladies will furnish their Garrets with

Stuff,
Which others for Mantuas wou'd think fine

enuff;
So the Wit that is lavishly thrown away here,
Might furnish a second Rate Poet a Year :

Thus

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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

Jade.

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