'Tis like what you, and one or two more,
Roar to your Echo2 in good humour,
And every couplet thou hast writ
Concludes like Rhattah whittah-whit3.
UPON HIS VERSES WRITTEN IN CIRCLES.
IT never was known that circular letters
By humble companions were sent to their betters;
And as to the subject, our judgment mehercle
Is this, that you argue like fools in a circle.
But now for your verses: we tell you, imprimis, The segment so large 'twixt your reason and rhyme is,
That we walk all about, like a horse in a pound, And before we find either, our noddles turn round. Sufficient it were, one would think, in your mad
To give us your measures of lines by a quadrant; But we took our dividers, and found your d—'d metre,
In each single verse took up a diameter.
At Gallstown there is so famous an Echo, that, if you repeat two lines of Virgil out of a speaking-trumpet, you may hear the nymph return them to your ear with great propriety and clearness.
3 These words allude to their amusements with the Echo, having no other signification but to express the sound of stones returned by the Echo, when beaten one against the other.
But how, Mr. Sheridan came you to venture George, Dan, Dean, and Nim, to place in the centre1?
Twill appear, to your cost, you are fairly trepann'd,
For the cord of your circle is now in their hand;
The cord, or the radius, it matters not whether,
By which your jade Pegasus, fix'd in a tether,
As his betters are used, shall be lash'd round the ring,
Three fellows with whips, and the Dean holds the
string.
[pass,
Will Hancock declares you are out of your com-
To encroach on his art by writing of bombas,
And has taken just now a firm resolution
To answer your style without circumlocution.
Lady Betty presents you her service most humble,
And is not afraid your worship will grumble
That she makes of your verses a hoop for Miss Tam3,
Which is all at present; and so I remain—
1 There were four human figures in the centre of the circular verses.
2 Daughter of the Earl of Drogheda, married George Rochfort, Esq.
3 Miss Tam (a short name for Thomason) Lady Betty's daughter, then perhaps about a year old. She was afterward married to Gustavus Lambert, Esq. of Paynstown, in the county of Meath.
FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WEAVERS IN IRELAND.
WHO dares affirm this is no pious age,
When Charity begins to tread the stage?
When actors, who at best are hardly savers,
Will give a night of benefit to Weavers?
Stay- -let me see; how finely will it sound!
Imprimis, from his grace a hundred pound.
Peers, clergy, gentry, all are benefactors;
And then comes in the item of the actors:
Item, the actors freely give a day—
The poet had no more who made the play.
But whence this wondrous charity in players?
They learn'd it not at sermons or at prayers.
Under the rose, since here are none but friends,
To own the truth, we have some private ends.
Since waiting-women, like exacting jades,
Hold up the prices of their old brocades,
We'll dress in manufactures made at home,
Equip our kings and generals at the Comb;
We'll rig in Meath-street Egypt's haughty queen,
And Anthony shall court her in rateen:
In blue shalloon shall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple plaid :
In drugget dress'd, of thirteen-pence a yard,
See Philip's son amidst his Persian guard;
And proud Roxana, fired with jealous rage,
With fifty yards of crape shall sweep the stage.
In short, our kings and princesses within
Are all resolved the project to begin ;
And you, our subjects, when you here resort,
Must imitate the fashions of the court.
Oh! could I see this audience clad in stuff, Though money's scarce, we should have trade enough:
But chints, brocades, and lace, take all away,
And scarce a crown is left to see a play.
Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship springs
Between the weavers and us playhouse-kings;
But wit and weaving had the same beginning;
Pallas first taught us poetry and spinning.
And next observe how this alliance fits,
For weavers now are just as poor as wits;
Their brother quill-men, workers for the stage,
For
sorry stuff can get a crown a page;
But weavers will be kinder to the players,
And sell for twenty-pence a yard of theirs;
And, to your knowledge, there is often less in
The poet's wit than in the player's dressing.
YE wise Philosophers! explain
What magic makes our money rise
When dropp'd into the Southern main?
Or do these jugglers cheat our eyes?
Put in your money fairly told;
Presto, be gone,-'tis here again;
Ladies and Gentlemen, behold,
Here's every piece as big as ten.
Thus in a bason drop a shilling,
Then fill the vessel to the brim, You shall observe, as you are filling, The ponderous metal seems to swim.
It rises both in bulk and height,
Behold it swelling like a sop!
The liquid medium cheats your sight;
Behold it mounted to the top!
In stock three hundred thousand pound;
I have in view a lord's estate;
My manors all contiguous round,
A coach and six, and served in plate.
Thus the deluded bankrupt raves,
Puts all upon a desperate bet,
Then plunges in the southern waves,
Dipp'd over head and ears—in debt,
So, by a calenture misled,
The mariner with rapture sees
On the smooth ocean's azure bed
Enamell'd fields and verdant trees;
With eager haste he longs to rove
In that fantastic scene, and thinks
It must be some enchanted grove,
And in he leaps, and down he sinks.
Two hundred chariots, just bespoke,
Are sunk in these devouring waves, The horses drown'd, the harness broke,
And here the owners find their graves.
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