The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 56

'Twill appear to your cost, you are fairly trepann'd, For the chord of your circle is now in their hand.

The chord, 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.

Will Hanc.o.c.k declares, you are out of your compa.s.s, To encroach on his art by writing of bombast; And has taken just now a firm resolution To answer your style without circ.u.mlocution.

Lady Betty[2] presents you her service most humble, And is not afraid your worship will grumble, That she make of your verses a hoop for Miss Tam.[3]

Which is all at present; and so I remain--

[Footnote 1: There were four human figures in the centre of the circular verses.--_F._]

[Footnote 2: Daughter of the Earl of Drogheda, and married to George Rochfort, Esq.--_F._]

[Footnote 3: Miss Thomason, Lady Betty's daughter, then, perhaps, about a year old; afterwards married to Gustavus Lambert, Esq., of Paynstown, in the county of Meath.--_Scott._]

ON DR. SHERIDAN'S CIRCULAR VERSES BY MR. GEORGE ROCHFORT

With music and poetry equally blest, A bard thus Apollo most humbly addrest: "Great author of harmony, verses, and light!

a.s.sisted by thee, I both fiddle and write.

Yet unheeded I sc.r.a.pe, or I scribble all day, My verse is neglected, my tunes thrown away.

Thy subst.i.tute here, Vice Apollo, disdains To vouch for my numbers, or list to my strains; Thy manual signet refuses to put To the airs I produce from the pen or the gut.

Be thou then propitious, great Phoebus! and grant Relief, or reward, to my merit, or want.

Though the Dean and Delany transcendently shine, O brighten one solo or sonnet of mine!

With them I'm content thou shouldst make thy abode; But visit thy servant in jig or in ode; Make one work immortal: 'tis all I request."

Apollo look'd pleased; and, resolving to jest, Replied, "Honest friend, I've consider'd thy case; Nor dislike thy well-meaning and humorous face.

Thy pet.i.tion I grant: the boon is not great; Thy works shall continue; and here's the receipt.

On rondeaus hereafter thy fiddle-strings spend: Write verses in circles: they never shall end."

ON DAN JACKSON'S PICTURE, CUT IN SILK AND PAPER[1]

To fair Lady Betty Dan sat for his picture, And defied her to draw him so oft as he piqued her, He knew she'd no pencil or colouring by her, And therefore he thought he might safely defy her.

Come sit, says my lady; then whips up her scissar, And cuts out his c.o.xcomb in silk in a trice, sir.

Dan sat with attention, and saw with surprise How she lengthen'd his chin, how she hollow'd his eyes; But flatter'd himself with a secret conceit, That his thin lantern jaws all her art would defeat.

Lady Betty observed it, then pulls out a pin, And varies the grain of the stuff to his grin: And, to make roasted silk to resemble his raw-bone, She raised up a thread to the jet of his jaw-bone; Till at length in exactest proportion he rose, From the crown of his head to the arch of his nose; And if Lady Betty had drawn him with wig and all, 'Tis certain the copy had outdone the original.

Well, that's but my outside, says Dan, with a vapour; Say you so? says my lady; I've lined it with paper.

PATR. DELANY _sculpsit_.

[Footnote 1: See vol. i, p. 96. Dan Jackson's nose seems to have been a favourite subject for raillery, as in this and some following pieces.--_W. E. B._]

ON THE SAME PICTURE

Clarissa draws her scissars from the case To draw the lines of poor Dan Jackson's face; One sloping cut made forehead, nose, and chin, A nick produced a mouth, and made him grin, Such as in tailor's measure you have seen.

But still were wanting his grimalkin eyes, For which gray worsted stocking paint supplies.

Th' unravell'd thread through needle's eye convey'd, Transferr'd itself into his pasteboard head.

How came the scissars to be thus outdone?

The needle had an eye, and they had none.

O wondrous force of art! now look at Dan-- You'll swear the pasteboard was the better man.

"The devil!" says he, "the head is not so full!"

Indeed it is--behold the paper skull.

THO. SHERIDAN _sculp._

ON THE SAME

If you say this was made for friend Dan, you belie it, I'll swear he's so like it that he was made by it.

THO. SHERIDAN _sculp._

ON THE SAME PICTURE

Dan's evil genius in a trice Had stripp'd him of his coin at dice.

Chloe, observing this disgrace, On Pam cut out his rueful face.

By G--, says Dan, 'tis very hard, Cut out at dice, cut out at card!

G. ROCHFORT _sculp._

ON THE SAME PICTURE

Whilst you three merry poets traffic To give us a description graphic Of Dan's large nose in modern sapphic;

I spend my time in making sermons, Or writing libels on the Germans, Or murmuring at Whigs' preferments.

But when I would find rhyme for Rochfort, And look in English, French, and Scotch for't, At last I'm fairly forced to botch for't.

Bid Lady Betty recollect her, And tell, who was it could direct her To draw the face of such a spectre?

I must confess, that as to me, sirs, Though I ne'er saw her hold the scissars, I now could safely swear it is hers.

'Tis true, no nose could come in better; 'Tis a vast subject stuff'd with matter, Which all may handle, none can flatter.

Take courage, Dan; this plainly shows, That not the wisest mortal knows What fortune may befall his nose.

Show me the brightest Irish toast, Who from her lover e'er could boast Above a song or two at most:

For thee three poets now are drudging all, To praise the cheeks, chin, nose, the bridge and all, Both of the picture and original.

Thy nose's length and fame extend So far, dear Dan, that every friend Tries who shall have it by the end.