Then know from us, moft beauteous Dan, That roughness best becomes a man; 'Tis women would be pale and wan, and taper.

And all your trifling beaux and fops, Who comb their brows and fleek their

chops,

Are but the offspring of toy-fhops,

meer vapour.

We know your morning hours you pass
To cull and gather out a face;
Is this the way you take your glass?

forbear it.

Thofe loads of paint upon your toilet,.:
Will never mend your face, but fpoil it,
It looks as if you did par-boil it,
Drink claret.

Your cheeks, by fleeking, are fo lean,
That they're like Cynthia in the wane,
Or breaft of goofe when 'tis pick'd clean,
or pullet

See what by drinking you have done, You've made your phiz a skeleton, From the long diftance of your crown,

t'your gullet?

DAN

DAN JACKSON's Reply.

Written by the Dean in the name of DAN JACKSON,

W Earied with faying grace and pray`r,

I haften'd down to country air,

To read your anfwer, and prepare

reply to't.

But your fair lines fo grofsly flatter,
Pray do they praise me or befpatter ?
I must fufpect you mean the latter,

ah! fly-boot!

It must be ! fo! what elfe, alas
Can mean my culling of a face,
And all that stuff of toilet, glass,

and box-comb?

But be't as 'twill, this you must gränt, That you're a dawb, whilst I but paint; Then which of us two is the quaint

er coxcomb?

I value not your jokes of noose,
Your gibes and all your foul abuse,
More than the dirt beneath my fhoes,

nor fear it.

Yet

Yet one thing vexes me, I own,
Thou forry scare-crow of skin and bone,
To be call'd lean by a skeleton,

who'd bear it?

"Tis true indeed, to curry friends, You feem to praise to make amends, And yet, before your stanza ends,

you flout me,

'Bout latent charms beneath my cloaths; For every one that knows me, knows That I have nothing like my nofe

about me.

I pass now where you fleer and laugh, 'Caufe I call Dan my better half! Oh there you think you have me fafe!

Is not a penny often found

but hold Sir.

To be much greater than a pound?
By your good leave, my most profound

and bold Sir.

Dan's noble mettle, Sherry base;
So Dan's the better, though the lefs,
An ounce of gold's worth ten of brafs,

dull pedant.

As

As to your spelling, let me fee,
If SHE makes her, and RI makes ry,
Good fpelling-mafter, your crany

has lead on't.

Another Reply by the Dean in DAN JACKSON's Name.

TH

HREE days for anfwer I have waited, I thought an ace you'd ne'er have bated,

And art thou forc'd to yield, ill-fated

poetafter?

Henceforth acknowledge, that a nose
Of thy dimenfion's fit for profe,
But ev'ry one that knows Dan, knows
thy master.

Blush for ill-fpelling, for ill-lines,
And fly with hurry to ramines;
Thy fame, thy genius now declines,

proud boafter.

I hear with fome concern you roar,
And flying think to quit the score
By clapping billets on your door

and pofts, Sir.

Thy ruin, Tom, I never meant,
I'm griev'd to hear your banishment,
But pleas'd to find you do relent

and cry on.

I maul'd you, when you look'd fo bluff,
But now I'll fecret keep your stuff;
For know, proftration is enough

to th' lion.