We fquander there an hour or more,
And then all hands, boys, to the oar;
All, heteroclite Dan except,
Who neither time nor order kept,
But, by peculiar whimfies drawn,
Peeps in the ponds to look for spawn;
O'erfees the work, or Dragon * rows,
Or mars a text, or mends his hofe;
Or---but proceed we in our journal---
At two, or after, we return all:
From the four elements afcending,
Warn'd by the bell, all folks come trembling:
From airy garrets fome descend,
Some from the lake's remotest end :
My Lord and Dean the fire forfake;
Dan leaves the earthly spade and rake:
The loiterers quake, no corner hides them,
And Lady Betty foundly chides them.
Now water 's brought, and dinner 's done :
With "Church and King" the lady 's gone;
(Not reckoning half an hour we pafs
In talking o'er a moderate glafs).
Dan, growing drowsy, like a thief
Steals off to dofe away his beef;

And this must pass for reading Hammond---
While George and Dean go to backgammon.
George, Nim, and Dean, set out at four,
And then again, boys, to the oar.
But when the fun goes to the deep,
(Not to difturb him in his fleep,
Or make a rumbling o'er his head,
His candle out, and he a-bed)
We watch his motions to a minute,
And leave the flood when he goes in it.
Now ftinted in the shortening day,
We go to prayers, and then to play,
Till fupper comes; and after that
We fit an hour to drink and chat.
"Tis late---the old and younger pairs,
By Adam lighted, walk up stairs. 1
The weary Dean goes to his chamber;
And Nim and Dan to garret clamber.
So when the circle we have run,
The curtain falls, and all is done.

I might have mention'd several facts,
Like epifodes between the acts;
And tell who lofes and who wins,
Who gets a cold, who breaks his thins;
How Dan caught nothing in his net,
And how the boat was overset.
For brevity I have retrench'd

How in the lake the Dean was drench'd:

It would be an exploit to brag on,

How valiant George rode o'er the Dragon;
How fteady in the ftorm he fat,

And fav'd his oar, but loft his hat:

Now Nim (no hunter e'er could match him)
Still brings us hares, when he can catch them:
How skilfully Dan mends his nets;
How fortune fails him when he sets:

Or how the Dean delights to vex

The ladies, and lampoon their sex.

. A fmall boat fo called.

+ Mr. Rochfort's father was Lord Chief Ba

ren of the Exchequer in Ireland.

The Butler.

I might have told how oft' Dean Percivale
Displays his pedantry unmerciful;
How haughtily he cocks his nofe,
To tell what every school-boy knows;
And with his finger and his thumb,
Explaining, ftrikes oppofers dumb:
But now there needs no more be faid on't,
Nor how his wife, that female pedant,
Shows all her fecrets of houfe-keeping;
For candles how the trucks her dripping;
Was forc'd to fend three miles for yeaft,
To brew her ale, and raise her paste ;
Tells every thing that you can think of,
How the cur'd Charley of the chincough;
What gave her brats and pigs the measles,
And how her doves were kill'd by weasels;
How Jowler howl'd, and what a fright
She had with dreams the other night.

But now, fince I have gone fo far on,
A word or two of Lord Chief Baron;
And tell how little weight he fets
On all Whig papers and Gazettes;
But for the politics of Pue,
Thinks every fyllable is true.

And fince he owns the King of Sweden
Is dead at laft, without evading,

Now all his hopes are in the Czar :

66

Why, Muscovy is not fo far:

"Down the Black Sea, and up the Streights, "And in a month he's at your gates;

66

Perhaps, from what the packet brings,

"By Christmas we shall see itrange things." Why should I tell of ponds and drains, What carps we met with for our pains;

Of sparrows tame, and nuts innumerable

To choke the girls, and to confume a rabble?
But you, who are a fcholar, know
How tranfient all things are below,
How prone to change is human life!
Last night arriv'd Clem and his wife---
This grand event hath broke our measures;
Their reign began with cruel feizures:
The Dean must with his quilt fupply
The bed in which thofe tyrants lie:
Nim loft his wig-block, Dan his jordan
(My lady fays, the can't afford one);
George is half-fcar'd out of his wits,
For Clem gets all the dainty bits.
Henceforth expect a different survey,
This houfe will foon turn topsy-turvy:
They talk of further alterations,
Which caufes many speculations.

And th't I'd ridicule their 'nd your flam-flim.
Ay' b't then, p'rhaps, fays you, t's a m'rry whim
With 'bundance of mark'd notes i' th' rim,
So th't I ought n't for t' be morofe 'nd t' look grim,
Think n't your 'p'ftle put m' in a meagrim;
Though 'n rep't't'on day, I 'ppear ver' lim,
Th' laft bowl 't Helfham's did m' head t' swim,
So th't I h'd man' aches 'n 'v'ry scrubb'd limb,
Caufe th' top of th' bowl I h'd oft us'd t' skim;
And b'fides D'lan' fwears th't I h'd fwall'w'd
f'v'r'l brim-

mers, 'nd that my vis'ge 's covr'd o'er with r'd pimples: m'r'o'er though m' fcull were (s' tis n't) 's Atrong's tim

ber, 't must have ak`d. Th' clans of th' c'lledge Sanh'drim,

Pres'nt the'r humbl' and 'fect'nate respects; that 'st' fay, D'lan', 'chlin, P. Ludl', Dic' St'wart, H'lham, capt'n P'rr' Walml', 'nd Longsh'nks Timm *.

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S ANSWER.

DEAR Sheridan! a gentle pair

Of Gaulftown lads (for such they are)
Befides a brace of grave divines,
Adore the smoothness of thy lines;
Smooth as our bafon's filver flood,
Ere George had robb'd it of its mud;
Smoother than Pegasus' old fhoe,
Ere Vulcan comes to make him new.
The board on which we fet our a---s,
Is not fo fmooth as are thy verfes,
Compar'd with which (and that's enough)
A fmoothing-iron itself is rough.
Nor praife I lefs that circumcifion,
By modern poets call'd ellufion,
With which, in proper station plac'd,
Thy polifh'd lines are firmly brac'd.
Thus a wife tailor is not pinching,
But turns at every feam an inch in;
Or elfe, be fure, your broad-cloth breeches
Will ne'er be fmooth, nor hold their ftitches.
Thy verfe, like bricks, defy the weather,
When smooth'd by rubbing them together;
Thy words fo clofely wedg'd and fhort are
Like walls, more lafting without mortar :
By leaving out the needlefs vowels,
You fave the charge of lime and trowels.
One letter ftill another locks,

Each groov'd and dove-tail'd like a box.
Thy mufe is tuckt-up and fuccin&t;
In chains thy fyllables are linkt;
Thy words together ty'd in small hanks,
Clofe as the Macedonian phalanx;
Or like the umbo of the Romans,

Which fierceft foes could break by no means.
The critic to his grief will find,

How firmly thefe indentures bind.

So, in the kindred painter's art,

The fhortening is the niceft 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 elfe, to show their learned labour, you
May backward be perus'd like Hebrew,
Where they need not lose a bit
Or of thy harmony or wit.
To make a work completely fine,
Number and weight and measure join;
Then all must grant your lines are weighty.
Where thirty weigh as much as eighty.
All must allow your numbers more,
Where twenty lines exceed fourfcore;
Nor can we think our measure short,
Where less than forty fill a quart,
With Alexandrian in the close,
Long, long, long, long, like Dan's long nofe.

53

GEORGE NIM-DAN-DEAN'S INVITA、 TION TO THOMAS SHERIDAN.

Gaulfown, Aug. 2. 1721.

DEAR Tom, this verfe, which however the beginning may appear, yet in the end's good metre, Is fent to defire that, when your Auguft vacation comes, your friends you'd meet here.

For why should you stay in that filthy hole, I mean the city jo fmoky,

When you have not one friend left in town, or at leaft not one that's witty, to joke w' ye? For, as for honeft John, though I'm not fure on't, yet I'll be bang'd, left he

Be gone down to the county of Wexford with that great peer the Lord Anglesey,

Oh! but I forgot; perhaps, by this time, you may have one come to town, but I don't know whether he be friend or foe, Delany:

But, however, if he be come, bring him down, and you shall go back in a fortnight, for I know there's no delaying ye.

Oh! I forgot too; I believe there may be one more: I mean that great fat joker, friend Helfham, be

That wrote the prologuet, and if you stay with him, depend ont't, in the end, he'll fham ye. Bring down Long Shanks Jim too; but now I think on't, he's not yet come from Courtown, I fancy;

For I heard, a month ago, that he was down there, a-courting y Nancy.

However, bring down yourself, and you bring down all; for, to say it we may venture,

In thee Delany's fpleen, John's mirth, Heliham's jokes, and the foft foul of amorous Jemmy centre.

Suppofed to be Dr. Walmsley.

Cloyne

Swift's Works."

66

TO GEORGE NIM-DAN-DEAN, ESQ.
Upon his incomparable Verses, c.
BY DR. DELANY, IN SHERIDAN'S NAME".
HAIL, human compound quadrifarious,
Invincible as Wight Briareus!
Hail doubly-doubled mighty merry one,
Stronger than triple-body'd Geryon !
O may your vaftness deign't' excufe
The praises of a puny muse,
Unable, in her utmost flight,

To reach thy huge Coloffian height.
T'attempt to write like thee were frantic,
Whofe lines are, like thyfelf, gigantic.

Yet let me blefs, in humbler ftrain,
Thy vaft, thy bold Cambyfian vein,
Pour'd out t' enrich thy native isle,
As Egypt wont to be with Nile.
Oh, how I joy to see thee wander,
In many a winding loofe meander,
In circling mazes, fmooth and fupple,
And ending in a clink quadruple;
Loud, yet agreeable withal.
Like rivers rattling in their fall!
Thine, fure, is poetry divine,
Where wit and majesty combine;
Where every line, as huge as feven,

If ftretch'd in length, would reach to Heaven;

Here all comparing would be flandering,
The leaft is more than Alexandrine.

Against thy verfe Time fees with pain,
He whets his envious fcythe in vain;
For, though from thee he much may pare,
Yet much thou ftill wilt have to ipare.

Thou haft alone the fkill to feaft
With Roman elegance of taste,
Who haft of rhymes as faft refources
As Pompey's caterer of courfes.

Oh thou, of all the Nine infpir'd!
My languid foul, with teaching tir'd,
How is it raptur'd, when it thinks
On thy harmonious fet of clinks;
Each anfwering each in various rhymes,
Like echo to St. Patrick's chimes!

Thy mufe, majestic in her rage,
Moves like Statira on the stage;
And scarcely can one page fuftain
The length of fuch a flowing train :
Her train, of variegated dye,
Shows like Thaumantia's in the sky;

These were all written in circles.

Alike they glow, alike they please,
Alike impreft by Phoebus' rays.

Thy verfe-(Ye Gods! I cannot bear it) To what, to what fhall I compare it? "Tis like, what I have oft' heard spoke on, The famous ftatue of Laocoon. 'Tis like---O yes, 'tis very like it, 'Tis like what you, and one or too more, The long, long ftring, with which you fly kite. And every couplet thou haft writ Roar to your Echo in good humour; Conclude like Rattab-whittah-whit ţ.

TO MR. THOMAS SHERIDAN.

Upon his Verfes written in Circles.

BY DR. SWIFT.

IT never was known that circular letters,
By humble companions, were fent to their bet

ters:

And, as to the fubject, our judgment, meherc'le,
Is this, that you argue like fools in a circle.
But now for your verfes; we tell you, imprimis,
The fegment fo large 'twixt your reafon and
rhyme is,

That we walk all about, like a horfe in a pound, And, before we find either, our noddles turn round.

[rast,

Sufficient it were, one would think, in your mad
To give us your measures of line by a quadrant.
But we took our dividers, and found your d---n'd
metre,

In each fingle verfe took up a diameter.
But how, Mr. Sheridan, came you to venture
George, Dan, Dean, and Nim, to place in the
centre +?

"Twill appear, to your coft, you are fairly tre pann'd,

For the chord of your circle is now in their hand;
The chord, or the radius, it matters not whether,
By which your jade Pegafus, fixt in a tether,
As her betters are us'd, fhall be lash'd round the
[the ftring.
Three fellows with whips, and the Dean holds
Will Hancock declares, you are out of your com-

ring,

pafs,

To encroach on his art by writing of bombafs;
And has taken juft now a firm refolution
To answer your ftyle without circumlocution.
Lady Pettys prefents you her service most hum

bie,

56

Thy nofe's length and fame extend, So far, dear Dan, that every friend Tries who fhall have it by the end. And future poets, as they rife, Shall read with envy and surprise Thy nose out-fhining Calia's eyes.

JON SWIFT.

DAN JACKSON'S DEFENCE.

My verfe little better you'll find than my face is "A word to the wife-ut pi&ura peïfis.”

THREE merry lads, with envy stung,
Because Dan's face is better hung,
Combin'd in verfe to rhyme it down,
And in its place fet up their own;
As if they'd run it down much better
By number of their feet in metre,
Or that its red did cause their spite,
Which made them draw in black and white.
Be that as 'twill, this is moft true,
They were infpir'd by what they drew.
Let them fuch critics know, my face
Gives them their comlinefs and grace:
Whilft every line of face does bring
A line of grace to what they fing.
But yet methinks, though with disgrace
Both to the picture and the face,
I fhould name them who do rehearse
The ftory of the picture-farce;
The Squire, in French as hard as ftone,
Or strong as rock, that's all as one,
On face, on cards is very brifk, Sirs,
Because on them you play at whisk, Sirs.
But much I wonder, why my crany
Should envy'd be by De-el-any:

And yet much more, than half-name fake
Should join a party in the freak;
For fure I am it was not fafe
Thus to abufe his better half,
As I fhall prove you, Dan, to be,
Divifim and conjunctively.
For if Dan love not Sherry, can
Sherry be any thing to Dan?
This is the cafe whene'er you fee
Dan makes nothing of Sherry;

Or fhould Dan be by Sherry o'erta'en,
Then Dan would be poor Sherridane:
Tis hard then he should be decry'd
By Dan with Sherry by his fide,
But, if the cafe must be so hard,
That faces fuffer by a card,
Let critics cenfure, what care I?
Back-biters only we defy:
Faces are free from injury.

MR. ROCHFORT'S REPLY.

You fay your face is better hung
Than ours---by what? by nofe or tongue ?
In not explaining, you are wrong

dear Danny.

Thus will the fair of every age
From all parts make their pilgrimage,
Worship thy nose with pious rage

All their region will be spent
Abont thy woven monument,
And not one orison be sent

You the fam'd idol will become,
As gardens grac'd in ancient Rome,
By matron's worship'd in the gloom

O happy Dan thrice happy fure!
Thy fame for ever shall endure,
Who after death can love fecure

So far I thought it was my duty
To dwell upon thy boasted beauty;
Now I'll proceed a word or two t' ye,
To that party where you carry on
This paradox, that rock and stone
In your opinion are all one.

A man of reasoning fo profound,
So ftupidly be run aground,
As things to differently to confound

of love, Sir,

to Jove, Sir,

of night.

at fight.

in answer

How can, Sir,

t' our senses?

Because we thus wuft ftate the cafe,
That you have got a hanging face,
Th' untimely end's a damn'd difgrace
of noofe, Sir.

fyllables.

the tables.