And scarcely can one page fuftain
The length of fuch a flowing train:
Her train, of variegated die,

Shews like Thaumantia's in the sky;
Alike they glow, alike they pleafe,
Alike impreft by Phoebus' rays.

Thy verse-(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,

The long, long ftring, with which you fly kite,
'Tis like what you, and one or two more,
Roar to your Echo* in good-humour;
And every couplet thou haft writ

Conclude like Rattah-whittah-whit

TO MR. THOMAS SHERIDAN, Upon his VERSES written in CIRCLES. By Dr. SWIFT.

T never was known that circular letters,

IT

By humble companions, were fent to their betters;
And, as to the subject, our judgment, meherc'le,
Is this, that you argue like fools in a circle.

But now for your verses; we
; 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.

* At Gaulftown, there is a remarkably famous echo. An allufion to the found produced by the echo.

Sufficient

H

Sufficient it were, one would think, in your mad

rant,

To give us your meafures 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 trepann'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 Pegasus, fixt in a tether,
As her betters are us'd, fhall be lafh'd round the ring,
Three fellows with whips, and the Dean holds the
ftring.

Will Hancock declares, you are out of your compafs,
To encroach on his art by writing of bombass;
And has taken juft now a firm refolution
To answer your ftyle without circumlocution.
Lady Betty presents you her service moft humble,
And is not afraid your worship will grumble,
That the makes of your verses a hoop for Mifs
Tam,.'

Which is all at prefent; and fo I remain

Their figures were in the centre of the verses.

The lady of George Rochford, Efq.

1 Mifs Thomafon, lady Betty's daughter.

ON

On Dr. SHERIDAN'S CIRCULAR VERSES,

By MR. GEORGE ROCHFORT.

WITH mufick and poetry equally bleft,

A bard thus Apollo most humbly addreft; "Great author of harmony, verses, and light! "Affifted by thee, I both fiddle and write. "Yet unheeded I fcrape, or I fcribble all day, "My verfe is neglected, my tunes thrown away, Thy fubftitute here, Vice-Apollo *, difdains "To vouch for my numbers, or lift to my ftrains; "Thy manual fignet refuses to put

"To the airs I produce from the pen or the gut. "Be thou then propitious, great Phoebus! and grant "Relief, or reward, to my merit, or want.

Though the Dean and Delany tranfcendently fhine, "O brighten one folo or fonnet of mine!

"With them I'm content thou fhouldft make thy abode ;

"But visit thy fervant in jig or in ode ;

"Make one work immortal: 'tis all I request." Apollo look'd pleas'd; and, resolving to jest, Reply'd, "Honeft friend, I've confider'd thy cafe: "Nor diflike thy well meaning and humorous face, Thy petition I grant: the boon is not great; Thy works fhall continue; and here's the receipt. "On rondeaus hereafter thy fiddle-ftrings fpend: "Write verfes in circles: they never fhall end."

See "Apollo to the Dean."

ON DAN JACKSON'S PICTURE,
CUT IN SILK AND PAPER.

TO fair Lady Betty Dan fat for his picture,
And defy'd her to draw him so oft as he piqu'd
her.

He knew she'd no pencil or colouring by her,
And therefore he thought he might fafely defy her.
Come fit, fays my Lady; then whips up her fciffar,
And cuts out his coxcomb in filk in a trice, Sir.
Dan fat with attention, and faw with furprize
How the lengthen'd his chin, how the hollow'd his
eyes;

But flatter'd himself with a fecret conceit,

That his thin lantern jaws all her art would defeat.
Lady Betty obferv'd it, then pulls out a pin,
And varies the grain of the stuff to his grin;
And, to make roafted filk to resemble his raw-bone,
She rais'd up a thread to the jet of his jaw-bone;
Till at length in exacteft proportion he rofe,
From the crown of his head to the arch of his nose;
And if Lady Betty had drawn him with wig and all,
'Tis certain the copy had out-done the original.
Well, that's but my outfide, fays Dan with a

vapour,

Say you fo, fays my Lady; I've lin'd it with paper.
PATR. DELANY fculp.

ON

ON THE SAME PICTURE.

CLARISSA draws her fciffars from the cafe
To draw the lines of poor Dan Jackson's face,
One floping cut made forehead, nofe, and chin,
A nick produc'd a mouth, and made him grin,
Such as in taylor's measure you have seen.
But still were wanting his grimalkin eyes,
For which grey worsted-stocking paint fupplies.
Th' unravel'd thread through needle's eye convey'd
Transferr'd itself into his pafte-board head.
How came the fciffars to be thus out-done?
The needle had an eye, and they had none.
O wondrous force of art! now look at Dan -
You'll fwear the pafte-board was the better man,
"The devil! fays he, the head is not fo full !"
Indeed it is---behold the paper fkull.

--

THO. SHERIDAN Sculp

ON THE SAME PICTURE,

DAN's evil genius in a trice

Had ftripp'd him of his coin at dice,

Cloe, obferving this difgrace,

On Pam cut out his rueful face.
By G---, fay Dan, 'tis very hard,
Cut out at dice, cut out at card!

G. ROCHFORT fculp.

ON