The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 57

And future poets, as they rise, Shall read with envy and surprise Thy nose outs.h.i.+ning Celia's eyes.

JON. SWIFT.

DAN JACKSON'S DEFENCE

My verse little better you'll find than my face is; A word to the wise--_ut pictura poesis_.

Three merry lads, with envy stung, Because Dan's face is better hung, Combined in verse to rhyme it down, And in its place set up their own; As if they'd run it down much better By number of their feet in metre.

Or that its red did cause their spite, Which made them draw in black and white.

Be that as 'twill, this is most true, They were inspired by what they drew.

Let then such critics know, my face Gives them their comeliness and grace: While every line of face does bring A line of grace to what they sing.

But yet, methinks, though with disgrace Both to the picture and the face, I should name them who do rehea.r.s.e The story of the picture farce; The squire, in French as hard as stone, Or strong as rock, that's all as one, On face on cards is very brisk, sirs, Because on them you play at whisk, sirs.

But much I wonder, why my crany Should envied be by De-el-any: And yet much more, that half-namesake Should join a party in the freak.

For sure I am it was not safe Thus to abuse his better half, As I shall prove you, Dan, to be, Divisim and conjunctively.

For if Dan love not Sherry, can Sherry be anything to Dan?

This is the case whene'er you see Dan makes nothing of Sherry; Or should Dan be by Sherry o'erta'en Then Dan would be poor Sherridane 'Tis hard then he should be decried By Dan, with Sherry by his side.

But, if the case must be so hard, That faces suffer by a card, Let critics censure, what care I?

Backbiters only we defy, Faces are free from injury.

MR. ROCHFORT'S REPLY

You say your face is better hung Than ours--by what? by nose or tongue?

In not explaining you are wrong to us, sir.

Because we thus must state the case, That you have got a hanging face, Th' untimely end's a d.a.m.n'd disgrace of noose, sir.

But yet be not cast down: I see A weaver will your hangman be: You'll only hang in tapestry with many;

And then the ladies, I suppose, Will praise your longitude of nose, For latent charms within your clothes, dear Danny.

Thus will the fair of every age From all parts make their pilgrimage, Wors.h.i.+p thy nose with pious rage of love, sir:

All their religion will be spent About thy woven monument, And not one orison be sent to Jove, sir.

You the famed idol will become, As gardens graced in ancient Rome, By matrons wors.h.i.+pp'd in the gloom of night.[1]

O happy Dan! thrice happy sure!

Thy fame for ever shall endure, Who after death can love secure at sight.

So far I thought it was my duty To dwell upon thy boasted beauty; Now I'll proceed: a word or two t' ye in answer

To that part where you carry on This paradox, that rock and stone In your opinion, are all one: How can, sir,

A man of reasoning so profound So stupidly be run a-ground, As things so different to confound t'our senses?

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 a.s.sertion 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,) you'll find, sir,

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

[Footnote 1: Priapus, the G.o.d of procreation and fertility, both human and agricultural, whose statues, painted red, were placed in gardens.

Confer Horat., Sat. I, viii, 1-8; Virg., "Georg.", iv, 110-11. In India, the same deity is to be seen in retired parts of the gardens, as he is described by Horace--"ruber porrectus ab inguine palus"--and where he is wors.h.i.+pped by the matrons for the same reason.--_W. E. B._]

DR. DELANY'S REPLY

a.s.sist me, my Muse, while I labour to limn him.

_Credite, Pisones, isti tabulae 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 Was to rhyme down your nose, or your harlequin grin, Which you yourself wonder the de'el should malign.

And if 'tis so strange, that your monsters.h.i.+p'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 h.e.l.l 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, Though perhaps it might justly 've been said we were fired, 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 sc.r.a.pers 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 pa.s.s To cull and gather out a face; Is this the way you take your gla.s.s?

Forbear it: