« EelmineJätka »
But be 't as 'twill, this you must grant,
I value not your jokes of noose,
Yet one thing vexes me, I own,
Thou forry fcare-crow offkin and bone;
To be call'd lean by a skeleton,
'Tis true indeed, to curry friends, You feem to praife, to make amends, And yet, before your ftanza ends,
nor fear it.
who'd bear it?
you flout me
'Bout latent charms beneath my cloaths; For every one that knows me knows That I have nothing like.my nofe
pafs now where you fleer and laugh, 'Cause I call Dan my better half Oh there you think you have me fafe!
Is not a penny often found
But hold, Sir.
To be much greater than a pound?
and bold Sir.
Dan's noble mettle, Sherry base ;
So Dan's the better, though the lefs,
'An ounce of gold 's worth ten of brass,
As to your spelling, let me fee,
Good fpelling-mafter! your crany
has lead on 't.
BY THE DEAN, IN JACKSON'S NAME,
HREE days for answer I have waited,
I thought an ace you 'd ne'er have bated,
Henceforth acknowledge, that a nofe
Blush for ill-fpelling, for ill-lines,
I hear with fome concern you roar,
and posts, Sir. Thy
Thy ruin, Tom, I never meant,
I maul'd you, when you look'd so bluff,
For know, proftration is enough
SHERIDAN'S SUBMISSIO N.
BY THE DEAN.
"Cedo jam, miferæ cognofcens præmia rixæ,
POOR Sherry, inglorious,
To Dan the victorious,
Petition and greeting.
TO you victorious and brave,
Your now-fubdued and fuppliant flave
Moft humbly fues for pardon;
Who when I fought still cut me down,
Now lowly crouch'd I cry peccavi,
For you, my conqueror and my king,
Will fhew yourself a lion.
Alas! Sir, I had no defign,
'Twas the damn'd fquire with the hard name;
They tempted me t' attack your highness,
Unhappy wretch for now, I ween,
And they, alas! yield fmall relief,
Of lafh laid on by you.
To the Rev. DANIEL JACKSON; To be humbly prefented by Mr. SHERIDAN in Perfon, with Refpect, Care, and Speed,
ERE I return my truft, nor afk,
If I have well perform'd my tafk,
Too long I bore this weighty pack,
As Hercules the sky;
Now take him you, Dan Atlas, back,
Not all the witty things you fpeak
In compass of a day,
Not half the puns you make a week,
*With me you left him out at nurse,
He rhymes and puns, and puns and rhymes,
And, when he's lafh'd a hundred times,
When rods are laid on fehool-boys-bums,
The more they use the whip.
Thus, a lean beaft beneath a load
(A beaft of Irish breed)
Will, in a tedious, dirty road,
Outgo the prancing fteed.
You knock him down and down in vain,
And lay him flat before