DR. DELANY’S REPLY

Assist 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 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,
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 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: