Yet still are no wiser than we were at first.
Pudet hæc opprobria, I freely must tell ye,
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse refelli.
Though Delany advised you to plague me no longer,
You reply and rejoin like Hoadly of Bangor ;
I must now,
at one sitting, pay off my old score;
How many to answer? One, two, three, or four,
But, because the three former are long ago past,
I shall, for method-sake, begin with the last.
You treat me like a boy that knocks down his foe,
Who, ere t'other gets up, demands the rising blow.
Yet I know a young rogue, that, thrown flat on the

field,

*

Would, as he lay under, cry out, Sirrah! yield.
So the French, when our generals soundly did pay
them,
[Deum.
Went triumphant to church, and sang stoutly, Te
So the famous Tom Leigh, when quite run a-ground,
Comes off by out-laughing the company round :
In every vile pamphlet you'll read the same fancies,
Having thus overthrown all our farther advances.
My offers of peace you ill understood;
[good?
Friend Sheridan, when will you know your own
"Twas to teach you in modester language your duty;
For, were you a dog, I could not be rude t'ye;
As a good quiet soul, who no mischief intends
To a quarrelsome fellow, cries, Let us be friends.
But we like Antæus and Hercules fight,
The oftener you fall, the oftener you write :
And I'll use you as he did that overgrown clown,
I'll first take you up, and then take you down;

And, 'tis your own case, for you never can wound The worst dunce in your school, till he's heaved from the ground.

I beg your pardon for using my left hand, but I was in great haste, and the other hand was employed at the same time in writing some letters of business. September 20, 1718.-I will send you the rest when I have leisure: but pray come to dinner with the company you met here last.

TO THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S,

IN ANSWER TO HIS LEFT-HANDED LETTER.

SINCE your poetic prancer is turn'd into Cancer, I'll tell you at once, sir, I'm now not your man, sir; For pray, sir, what pleasure in fighting is found With a coward, who studies to traverse his ground? When I drew forth my pen, with your pen you ran

back;

But I found out the way to your den by its track: From thence the black monster I drew, o' my con

science,

[sense.

And so brought to light what before was stark nonWhen I with my right hand did stoutly pursue, You turn'd to your left, and you writ like a Jew; Which, good Mister Dean, I can't think so fair, Therefore turn about to the right, as you were; Then if with true courage your ground you maintain,

My fame is immortal, when Jonathan's slain :
Who's greater by far than great Alexander,
As much as a teal surpasses a gander;

As much as a game-cock's excell'd by a sparrow;
As much as a coach is below a wheelbarrow:

As much and much more as the most handsome man Of all the whole world is exceeded by Dan.

T. SHERIDAN.

This was written with that hand which in others is commonly called the left hand.

OFT have I been by poets told,

That, poor Jonathan, thou grow'st old.

Alas, thy numbers falling all,

Poor Jonathan, how they do fall!

Thy rhymes, which whilom made thy pride swell,

Now jingle like a rusty bridle :

Thy verse, which ran both smooth and sweet,

Now limp upon their gouty feet:

Thy thoughts, which were the true sublime,
Are humbled by the tyrant, Time:

Alas! what cannot Time subdue ?

Time has reduced my wine and you;
Emptied my casks, and clipp'd your wings,
Disabled both in our main springs ;

So that of late we two are grown

The jest and scorn of all the town.
But
yet, if
my advice be ta'en,

We two may be as great again;

I'll send you wings, and send me wine;
Then you will fly, and I shall shine.

This was written with my right hand, at the same time with the other.

How does Melpy like this? I think I have vex'd her; Little did she know, I was ambidexter.

T. SHERIDAN.

TO MR. THOMAS SHERIDAN.

REVEREND AND LEARNED SIR,

I AM teacher of English, for want of a better, to a poor charity-school, in the lower end of St. Thomas's Street; but in my time I have been a Virgilian, though I am now forced to teach English, which I understood less than my own native language, or even than Latin itself; therefore I made bold to send you the enclosed, the fruit of my Muse, in hopes it may qualify me for the honour of being one of your most inferior Ushers: if you will vouchsafe to send me an answer, direct to me next door but one to the Harrow, on the left hand in Crocker's Lane.

I am yours,

Reverend Sir, to command,

PAT. REYLY.

Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim.-Hor.1

In this cover was enclosed Swift's verses to Sheridan, beginning Delicia Musarum, &c.-Scott.

AD te, doctissime Delany,
Pulsus à foribus Decani,
Confugiens edo querelam,

Pauper petens clientelam.
Petebam Swift doctum patronum,
Sed ille dedit nullum donum,

Neque cibum neque bonum.

Quæris quàm malè sit stomacho num?

Iratus valdè valdè latrat,
Crumenicidam fermè patrat :

Quin ergo releves ægrotum,
Dato cibum, dato potum.

Ita in utrumvis oculum,

Dormiam bibens vestrum poculum.

Quæso, Reverende Vir, digneris hanc epistolam inclusam cum versiculis perlegere, quam cum fastidio abjecit et respuebat Decanus ille (inquam) lepidissimus et Musarum et Apollinis comes.

Reverende Vir,

De vestrâ benignitate et clementiâ in frigore et fame exanimatos, nisi persuasum esset nobis, hanc epistolam reverentiæ vestræ non scripsissem; quam profectò, quoniam eo es ingenio, in optimam accipere partem nullus dubito. Sævit Boreas, mugiunt procellæ, dentibus invitis maxillæ bellum gerunt. Nec minus, intestino depræliantibus tumultu visceribus, classicum sonat venter.

Ea