From my Ringsend car, Sept. 12, 1718, past 5 in the morning, on a repetition day.
[Footnote 1: Begging pardon for the expression to a dignitary of thechurch.--_S._]
SIR, Perhaps you may wonder, I send you so soon Another epistle; consider 'tis noon. For all his acquaintance well know that friend Tom is, Whenever he makes one, as good as his promise. Now Phoebus exalted, sits high on his throne, Dividing the heav'ns, dividing my crown, Into poems and business, my skull's split in two, One side for the lawyers, and t'other for you. With my left eye, I see you sit snug in your stall, With my right I'm attending the lawyers that scrawl With my left I behold your bellower a cur chase; With my right I'm a-reading my deeds for a purchase. My left ear's attending the hymns of the choir, My right ear is stunn'd with the noise of the crier. My right hand's inditing these lines to your reverence, My left is indenting for me and heirs ever-hence. Although in myself I'm divided in two, Dear Dean, I shall ne'er be divided from you.
SIR, I cannot but think that we live in a bad age, _O tempora, O mores!_ as 'tis in the adage. My foot was but just set out from my cathedral, When into my hands comes a letter from the droll. I can't pray in quiet for you and your verses; But now let us hear what the Muse from your car says. Hum--excellent good--your anger was stirr'd; Well, punners and rhymers must have the last word. But let me advise you, when next I hear from you, To leave off this passion which does not become you; For we who debate on a subject important, Must argue with calmness, or else will come short on't. For myself, I protest, I care not a fiddle, For a riddle and sieve, or a sieve and a riddle; And think of the sex as you please, I'd as lieve You call them a riddle, as call them a sieve. Yet still you are out, (though to vex you I'm loth,) For I'll prove it impossible they can be both; A school-boy knows this, for it plainly appears That a sieve dissolves riddles by help of the shears; For you can't but have heard of a trick among wizards, To break open riddles with shears or with scissars. Think again of the sieve, and I'll hold you a wager, You'll dare not to question my minor or major.[1] A sieve keeps half in, and therefore, no doubt, Like a woman, keeps in less than it lets out. Why sure, Mr. Poet, your head got a-jar, By riding this morning too long in your car: And I wish your few friends, when they next see your cargo, For the sake of your senses would lay an embargo. You threaten the stocks; I say you are scurrilous And you durst not talk thus, if I saw you at our ale-house. But as for your threats, you may do what you can I despise any poet that truckled to Dan But keep a good tongue, or you'll find to your smart From rhyming in cars, you may swing in a cart. You found out my rebus with very much modesty; But thanks to the lady; I'm sure she's too good to ye: Till she lent you her help, you were in a fine twitter; You hit it, you say;--you're a delicate hitter. How could you forget so ungratefully a lass, And if you be my Phoebus, pray who was your Pallas? As for your new rebus, or riddle, or crux, I will either explain, or repay it by trucks; Though your lords, and your dogs, and your catches, methinks, Are harder than ever were put by the Sphinx. And thus I am fully revenged for your late tricks, Which is all at present from the DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S.