CLEVER TOM CLINCH

GOING TO BE HANGED.

1720.

As Clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling,

Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling,
He stopp'd at the George for a bottle of sack,
And promised to pay for it, when he came back.
His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches, were
white;

His cap had a new cherry riband to tye't;
The maids to the doors and the balconies ran,
And said, 'Lack-a-day! he's a proper young man.'
But as from the windows the ladies he spied,
Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each side;
And when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry,
He swore, from his cart, it was all a damn'd lie.
The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee,
Tom gave him a kick in the guts for his fee;
Then said, I must speak to the people a little,
But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle'.
My honest friend Wild', may he long hold his place,
He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace.
Take courage, dear comrades! and be not afraid,
Nor slip this occasion to follow your trade;

My conscience is clear, and my spirits are calm, And thus I go off without prayer-book or psalm: Then follow the practice of clever Tom Clinch, Who hung like a hero, and never would flinch.'

1 A cant word for confessing at the gallows.

2 Jonathan Wild, the noted thief-catcher, under-keeper of Newgate, who was hanged for receiving stolen goods.

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S INVITATION 1.

TO MR. THOMAS SHERIDAN.

Gallstown, Aug. 2, 1721. DEAR Tom! this verse, which, however, the beginning may appear, yet in the end's good metre,

Is sent to desire that, when your August vacation comes, your friends you 'd meet here; For why should you stay in that filthy hole, I mean the city so smoky,

When

you have not one friend left in town, or at least one that's witty, to joke w'ye?

For as for honest John, though I am not sure on't, yet I'll be hanged 'less 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 Helsham, he

That wrote the Prologue, and if you stay with him, depend on't in the end he'll sham ye.

1 This Invitation seems to have been the joint composition of George Rochfort, John Rochfort, (who was called Nim, or Nimrod, by Dr. Swift, because he was fond of hunting) Dan Jackson, and Doctor Swift, in a vein of whim and merriment; and, in all probability, was sent off directly by the post to Sheridan.

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S INVITATION. 183 Bring down Longshanks Jim too; but now I think on't, he's not come yet from Courtown, I

fancy;

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

However, bring down yourself, and you bring down all; for, to say it we may venture, In thee Delany's spleen, John's mirth, Helsham's jokes, and the soft soul of amorous Jemmy,

centre.

POSTSCRIPT.

I had forgot to desire you to bring down what I say you have, and you'll believe me as sure as a gun, and own it,

I mean, what no other mortal in the universe can boast of, your own spirit of

wit.

pun, and own

And now I hope you'll excuse this rhyming, which I must say is (though written somewhat at large) trim and clean;

And so I conclude with humble respects, as usual, Your most dutiful and obedient,

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN.

ΤΟ

GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN, ESQ.

UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE VERSES, ETC. OF AUG. 2, 1721.

WRITTEN BY DR. DELANY, IN THE NAME OF THOMAS
SHERIDAN'.

HAIL! human compound quadrifarious,
Invincible as wight Briareus!

Hail! doubly doubled mighty merry one,
Stronger than triple-body'd Geryon !
O may your vastness deign to' excuse
The praises of a puny Muse,
Unable, in her utmost flight,

To reach thy huge Colossian height !
To' attempt to write like thee were frantic,
Whose lines are, like thyself, gigantic.

Yet let me bless, in humbler strain,
Thy vast, thy bold, Cambysian vein,
Pour'd out to'enrich thy native isle,
As Egypt wont to be with Nile.
Oh how I joy to see thee wander
In many a winding loose meander,
In circling mazes, smooth and supple,
And ending in a clink quadruple;
Loud, yet agreeable withal,

Like rivers rattling in their fall.

1 These verses were all written in circles, one within another, as appears from the observations in the following poem by Dr. Swift.

Thine, sure, is poetry divine,

Where wit and majesty combine;

Where every line, as huge as seven,

If stretch'd in length would reach to Heaven;
Here all comparing would be slandering,
The least is more than Alexandrine.

Against thy verse Time sees with pain,
He whets his envious scythe in vain ;
For though from thee he much may pare,
Yet much thou still wilt have to spare.
Thou hast alone the skill to feast
With Roman elegance of taste;
Who hast of rhymes as vast resources
As Pompey's caterer of courses.

Oh thou! of all the Nine inspired,
My languid soul, with teaching tired,
How is it raptured when it thinks
On thy harmonious set of clinks!
Each answering each in various rhymes,
Like Echo to St. Patrick's chimes!
Thy Muse, majestic in her rage,
Moves like Statira on the stage,
And scarcely can one page sustain
The length of such a flowing train;
Her train, of variegated dye,
Shows like Thaumantia's in the sky;
Alike they glow, alike they please,
Alike impress'd by Phoebus' rays.

Thy verse-(ye gods! I cannot bear it)
To what, to what shall I compare it?
'Tis like, what I have oft heard spoke on,
The famous statue of Laocoon.

'Tis like-O yes! 'tis very like it,

The long long string with which you fly kite.