ON THE SAME PICTURE.
WHILST you three merry poets traffic
To give us a description grapphic
Of Dan's large nofe in modern Sapphic;
I spend my time in making Sermons,
Or writing libels on the Germans,
Or murmuring at Whig's preferments.
But when I would find rhyme for Rochfort,
And look in English, French, and Scotch for 't,
At laft I'm fairly forc'd 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 faw her hold the fciflars,
I now could safely fwear it is hers.
'Tis true, no nofe could come in better;
"Tis a vast subject ftuff'd with matter,
Which all may handle, none can flatter.
Take courage, Dan; this plainly shows,
That not the wifeft mortal knows
What fortune may befal his nose.
Shew me the brightest Irish toast,
Who from her lover e'er could boast
Above a fong or two at most;
For thee three poets now are drudging all,
To praise the cheeks, chin, nofe, the bridge and all,
Both of the picture and original.
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 rise,
Shall read with envy and furprize
Thy nose outfhining Cælia's eyes.
DAN JACKSON'S DEFENCE.
"My verfe little better you'll find than my face is,
"A word to the wife-ut pictura poëfis.”
THREE merry lads, with envy ftung,
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 then fuch criticks know, my face
Gives them their comeliness and
grace i
While 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 story of the picture-farce;
The 'Squire, in French as hard as tone,
Or ftrong 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, that half-name fake
Should join a party in the freak,
For fure I am it was not safe
Thus to abuse his better half,
As I shall 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 should Dan be by Sherry o'erta'en,
Then Dan would be poor Sherridane ;
'Tis hard then he fhould be decry'd
By Dan with Sherry by his fide.
But, if the cafe must be fo hard,
That faces fuffer by a card,
Let criticks cenfure, what care I?
Back-biters only we defy,
Faces are free from injury.
YOU fay your face is better hung
Than ours-by what? by nofe or tongue? In not explaining, you are wrong
Because we thus muft ftate the cafe,
That you have got a hanging face,
Th' untimely end's a damn'd disgrace
of noose, Sir.
But yet be not caft down: I fee
A weaver will your hangman be;
You'll only hang in tapestry
And then the ladies, I fuppofe,
Will praise your longitude of nofe,
For latent charms within your cloaths,
dear Danny.
Thus will the fair of every age
From all parts make their pilgrimage,
Worship thy nofe with pious rage
All their religion will be spent
About thy woven monument,
And not one orifon be fent
You the fam'd idol will become,
As gardens grac'd in ancient Rome,
By matrons 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 boafted beauty;
Now I'll proceed a word or two ty'e
in anfwer
To that part where you carry on
This paradox, that rock and ftone
In your opinion are all one :
A man of reafoning fo profound
So ftupidly be run aground,
As things fo differently to confound
Except you judg'd them by the knock
Of near an equal hardy block
Such an experimental stroke
Then might you be, by dint of reafon,
A proper judge on this occafion;
'Gainft feeling there's no difputation,
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