Or that its red did cause their spite,
Which made them draw in black and white,
Be that as 'twill, this is most true,
They wero inspired by what they drew.
Let then such critics know, my face
Gives them their comeliness and grace:
While every line of face does bring
A line of grace to what they sing.
But yet, methinks, though with disgrace
Both to the picture and the face,
I should name them who do rehearse
The story of the picture farce;
The squire, in French, as hard as stone,
Or strong as rock, that's all as one,
On face on cards is very brisk, sirs,
Because on them you play at whisk, sirs.
But much I wonder, why my crany
Should envied be by De-el-any:
And yet much more that half-namesake
Should join a party in the freak.
For sure I am it was not safe
Thus to abuse his better half,
As I shall prove you, Dan, to be,
Divisim and conjunctively.
For if Dan love not Sherry, can
Sherry be anything to Dan?
This is the case whene'er you see
Dan makes nothing of Sherry;
Or should Dan be by Sherry o'erta'en,
Then Dan would be poor Sherridane;
'Tis hard then he should be decried
By Dan, with Sherry by his side.
But, if the case must be so hard,
That faces suffer by a card,
Let critics censure, what care I?
Backbiters only we defy,
Faces are free from injury.
JACKSON'S REJOINDER.
WEARIED with saying grace and prayer,
I hasten'd down to country air,
To read your answer, and prepare
But your fair lines so grossly flatter,
Pray do they praise me or bespatter?
I must suspect you mean the latter-
It must be so! what else, alas!
Can mean my culling of a face,
And all that stuff of toilet, glass,
ON DAN JACKSON'S PICTURE.
WHILST you three merry poets traffic
To give us a description graphic
Of Dan's large nose in modern sapphic,
I spend my time in making sermons,
Or writing libels on the Germans,
Or murmuring at Whigs' preferments.
But when I would find rhyme for Rockfort,
And look in English, French, and Scotch for't,
At last I'm fairly forced to botch for't.
Bid lady Betty recollect her,
And tell who was it could direct her
To draw the face of such a spectre?
I must confess that as to me, sirs,
Though I ne'er saw her hold the scissors,
I now could safely swear it is hers.
'Tis true, no nose could come in better;
'Tis a vast subject stuff'd with matter,
Which all may handle, none can flatter.
Take courage, Dan; this plainly shows
That not the wisest mortal knows
What fortune may befall his nose.
Show me the brightest Irish toast,
Who from her lover e'er could boast
Above a song or two at most:
For thee three poets now are drudging all,
To praise the cheeks, chin, nose, the bridge and all,
Both of the picture and original.
Thy nose's length and fame extend
So far, dear Dan, that every friend
Tries who shall have it by the end.
And future poets, as they rise,
Shall read with envy and surprise
Thy nose outshining Celia's eyes.
My verse little better you'll find than my face is;
A word to the wise ut pictura poesis.
THREE merry lads, with envy stung,
Because Dan's face is better hung,
Combined in verse to rhyme it down,
And in its place set up their own;
As if they'd run it down much better
Or that its red did cause their spite,
Which made them draw in black and white,
Be that as 'twill, this is most true,
They were inspired by what they drew.
Let then such critics know, my face
Gives them their comeliness and grace:
While every line of face does bring
A line of grace to what they sing.
But yet, methinks, though with disgrace
Both to the picture and the face,
I should name them who do rehearse
The story of the picture farce;
The squire, in French, as hard as stone,
Or strong as rock, that's all as one,
On face on cards is very brisk, sirs,
Because on them you play at whisk, sirs.
But much I wonder, why my crany
Should envied be by De-el-any:
And yet much more that half-namesake
Should join a party in the freak.
For sure I am it was not safe
Thus to abuse his better half,
As I shall prove you, Dan, to be,
Divisim and conjunctively.
For if Dan love not Sherry, can
Sherry be anything to Dan?
This is the case whene'er you see
Dan makes nothing of Sherry;
Or should Dan be by Sherry o'erta'en,
Then Dan would be poor Sherridane;
'Tis hard then he should be decried
By Dan, with Sherry by his side.
But, if the case must be so hard,
That faces suffer by a card,
Let critics censure, what care I?
Backbiters only we defy,
Faces are free from injury.
JACKSON'S REJOINDER.
WEARIED with saying grace and prayer,
I hasten'd down to country air,
To read your answer, and prepare
But your fair lines so grossly flatter,
Pray do they praise me or bespatter?
I must suspect you mean the latter-
It must be so! what else, alas!
Can mean my culling of a face,
And all that stuff of toilet, glass,
But be't as 'twill, this you must grant,
That you're a daub, whilst I but paint;
Then which of us two is the quaint-
I value not your jokes of noose,
Your gibes and all your foul abuse,
More than the dirt beneath my shoes,
Yet one thing vexes me, I own,
Thou sorry scarecrow of skin and bone;
To be call'd lean by a skeleton,
'Tis true, indeed, to curry friends, You seem to praise, to make amends, And yet, before your stanza ends,
'Bout latent charms beneath my clothes, For every one that knows me, knows That I have nothing like my nose
ANOTHER REJOINDER.
THREE days for answer I have waited,
I thought an ace you'd ne'er have baited;
And art thou forced to yield, ill-fated
Henceforth acknowledge that a nose
Of thy dimension's fit for prose;
But every one that knows Dan knows
Blush for ill spelling, for ill lines,
And fly with hurry to Rathmines;1
Thy fame, thy genius, now declines,
I hear with some concern your roar,
And flying think to quit the score
By clapping billets on your door
Thy ruin, Tom, I never meant,
I'm grieved to hear your banishment,
But pleased to find you do relent
and cry on.
I maul'd you when you look'd so bluff,
But now I'll secret keep your stuff;
For know prostration is enough
SHERIDAN'S SUBMISSION.
"Cedo jam, miseræ cognoscens præmia rixæ,
Si rixa est, ubi tu pulsas, ego vapulo tantum."
POOR Sherry, inglorious,
To Dan, the victorious,
Presents as 'tis fitting,
Petition and greeting.
To you, victorious and brave,
Your now subdued and suppliant slave
Most humbly sues for pardon;
Who when I fought still cut me down,
And when I, vanquish'd, fled the town,
Pursued and laid me hard on.
Now lowly crouch'd, I cry peccavi,
And prostrate, supplicate pour ma vie;
Your mercy I rely on;
For you, my conqueror and my king,
In pardoning, as in punishing,
Will show yourself a lion.
Alas! sir, I had no design,
But was unwarily drawn in;
For spite I ne'er had any;
'Twas the damn'd squire with the hard name; The de'il too that owed me a shame,
The devil and Delany;
They tempted me t'attack your highness,
And then, with wonted wile and slyness,
They left me in the lurch:
Unhappy wretch! for now, I ween,
I've nothing left to vent my spleen
But ferula and birch:
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