Where every line, as huge as seven,

If stretch'd in length would reach to heaven;
Here all comparing would be slandering,
The least is more than Alexandrine.

Against thy verse Time sees with pain,
He wets his envious scythe in vain;
For though from thee he much may pare,
Yet much thou still wilt have to spare.
Thou hast alone the skill to feast
With Roman elegance of taste;
Who hast of rhymes as vast resources
As Pompey's caterer of courses.

Oh thou! of all the Nine inspir'd,
My languid soul, with teaching tir'd,
How is it raptur'd when it thinks
On thy harmonious set of clinks!
Each answering each in various rhymes,
Like Echo to St. Patrick's chimes!
Thy Muse, majestic in her rage,
Moves like Statira on the stage,
And scarcely can one page sustain
The length of such a flowing train:
Her train, of variegated dye,
Shows like Thaumantia's in the sky;
Alike they glow, alike they please,
Alike imprest by Phoebus' rays.

Thy verse (ye Gods! I cannot bear it)

To what, to what shall I compare it?
'Tis like, what I have oft heard spoke on,
The famous statue of Laocoon.

'Tis like-O yes! 'tis very like it,

The long long string with which you fly kite,

"Tis like what you, and one or two more,
Roar to your Echo2 in good humour,
And every couplet thou has writ
Concludes like Rattah whittah-whit3.

ΤΟ

MR. THOMAS SHERIDAN,

UPON HIS VERSES WRITTEN IN CIRCLES. Ir never was known that circular letters By humble companions were sent to their betters; And as to the subject, our judgment mehercle Is this, that you argue like fools in a circle. But now for your verses; we tell you, imprimis, The segment so large 'twixt your reason and rhyme is,

That we walk all about, like a horse in a pound, And before we find either, our noddles turu

round.

[rant, Sufficient it were, one would think, in your mad To give us your measures of lines by a quadrant; But we took our dividers, and found your d'd metre,

In each single verse took up a diameter.

2 At Gallstown there is so famous an Echo, that, if you repeat two lines of Virgil out of a speaking-trumpet, you may hear the nymph return them to your ear with great propriety and clearness.

3 These words allude to their amusements with the Echo, having no other signification but to express the sound of stones returned by the Echo, when beaten one against the other.

But how, Mr. Sheridan, came you to venture George, Dan, Dean, and Nim, to place in the

centre 1? [pann'd, "Twill appear, to your cost, you are fairly treFor the cord of your circle is now in their hand; The cord, or the radius, it matters not whether, By which your jade Pegasus, fixt in a tether, As his betters are us'd, shall be lash'd round the ring,

Three fellows with whips, and the Dean holds the string.

Will Hancock declares you are out of your

compass,

To encroach on his art by writing of bombas,
And has taken just now a firm resolution
To answer your style without circumlocution.
Lady Betty2 presents you her service most
humble,

And is not afraid your Worship will grumble
That she makes of your verses a hoop for Miss
Tams,

Which is all at present; and so I remain

1 There were four human figures in the centre of the circular verses.

2 Daughter of the Earl of Drogheda, married George Rochfort, Esq.

3 Miss Tam, (a short name for Thomason) Lady Betty's daughter, then perhaps about a year old. She was afterwards married to Gustavus Lambert, Esq. of Paynstown, in the county of Meath.

EPILOGUE TO A PLAY,

FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WEAVERS IN IRELAND, 1721.

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 a hundred pound.
Peers, clergy, gentry, all are benefactors;
And then comes in the item of the actors:
Item, the actors freely give a day

The poet had no more who made the play.

But whence this wondrous charity in play❜rs? They learn'd it not at sermons or at pray❜rs. 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; We'll rig in Meath-Street Egypt's haughty And Anthony shall court her in rateen: [queen, In blue shalloon shall Hannibal be clad, And Scipio trail an Irish purple plaid : In drugget dress'd, 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 shal; sweep the stage.

In short, our kings and princesses within
Are all resolv'd the project to begin;
And you, our subjects, when you here resort,
Must imitate the fashions of the court.

Oh! could I see this audience clad in stuff, Though money's scarce, we should have trade enough:

But chintz, 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 quillmen, workers for the stage,
For sorry stuff can get a crown a page;
But weavers will be kinder to the play'rs,
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 SOUTH-SEA.

1721.

YE wise Philosophers! explain

What magic makes our money rise,
When dropt into the Southern main?
Or do these jugglers cheat your eyes?

Put in your money fairly told;
Presto, be gone 'tis here again;
Ladies and Gentlemen, behold,
Here's every piece as big as ten.