Except you judged them by the knock
Of near an equal hardy block;

Such an experimental stroke

convinces.

Then might you be, by dint of reason,
A proper judge on this occasion;
'Gainst feeling there's no disputation,

is granted :

Therefore to thy superior wit,
Who made the trial, we submit ;
Thy head to prove the truth of it

we wanted.

In one assertion you're to blame,
Where Dan and Sherry's made the same,
Endeavouring to have your name

refined, sir:

You'll see most grossly you mistook,
If you consult your spelling-book,
(The better half you say you took,)

S, H, E, she-and R, I, ri,

you'll find, sir,

Both put together make Sherry;
D, A, N, Dan-makes up the three

syllables;

Dan is but one, and Sherry two,

Then, sir, your choice will never do;

Therefore I've turn'd, my friend, on you

the tables.

DR. DELANY'S REPLY.

ASSIST me, my Muse, while I labour to limn him;
Credite, Pisones, isti tabulæ persimilem.

You look and you write with so different a grace,
That I envy your verse, though I did not
your face.
And to him that thinks rightly, there's reason

enough,

'Cause one is as smooth as the other is rough.

But much I'm amazed you should think my

design

[grin, Was to rhyme down your nose, or your harlequin Which you yourself wonder the de'el should malign. And if 'tis so strange, that your monstership's crany Should be envied by him, much less by Delany; Though I own to you, when I consider it stricter, I envy the painter, although not the picture. And justly she's envied, since a fiend of Hell Was never drawn right but by her and Raphael. Next, as to the charge, which you tell us is true, That we were inspired by the subject we drew. Inspired we were, and well, sir, you knew it; Yet not by your nose, but the fair one that drew it; Had your nose been the Muse, we had ne'er been inspired, [were fired. Though perhaps it might justly 've been said we

As to the division of words in your staves, Like my countryman's horn-comb, into three halves,

I meddle not with 't, but presume to make merry,
You call'd Dan one half, and t'other half Sherry:
Now if Dan's a half, as you call't o'er and o'er,
Then it can't be denied that Sherry's two more.
For pray give me leave to say, sir, for all you,
That Sherry's at least of double the value.
But perhaps, sir, you did it to fill up the verse;
So crowds in a concert (like actors in farce)
Play two parts in one, when scrapers are scarce.
But be that as 'twill, you'll know more anon, sir,
When Sheridan sends to merry Dan answer.

SHERIDAN'S REPLY.

THREE merry lads you own we are; 'Tis very true, and free from care: But envious we cannot bear,

believe, sir:

For, were all forms of beauty thine,
Were you like Nereus soft and fine,
We should not in the least repine,

or grieve, sir.

Then know from us, most beauteous Dan,
That roughness best becomes a man;
"Tis women should be pale, and wan,

and taper;

And all your trifling beaux and fops,

Who comb their brows, and sleek their chops, Are but the offspring of toy-shops,

mere 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:

Those loads of paint upon your toilet
Will never mend your face, but spoil it,
It looks as if you did parboil it:

Drink claret.

Your cheeks, by sleeking, are so lean,
That they're like Cynthia in the wane,
Or breast of goose when 'tis pick'd clean,
or pullet:

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

t' your gullet.

A REJOINDER.

BY THE DEAN IN JACKSON'S NAME.

WEARIED with saying grace and
I hasten'd down to country air,
To read your answer, and prepare

prayer,

reply to't:

But your fair lines so grossly flatter,
Pray do they praise me or bespatter?
I must suspect you mean the latter—

Ah! slyboot!

It must be so! what else, alas!
Can mean by culling of a face,
And all that stuff of toilet, glass,

and box-comb?

But be't as 'twill, this you must grant,
That you're a daub, 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 shoes,

nor fear it.

Yet one thing vexes me, I own,

Thou sorry scarecrow of skin and bone;
To be called lean by a skeleton,

"Tis true, indeed, to curry friends,

You seem to praise, to make amends,

And yet, before your stanza ends,

you flout me,

'Bout latent charms beneath my clothes, For every one that knows me, knows That I have nothing like my nose

about me: