Be by a parson cheated! Had you been cunning stagers, You might yourselves be treated By captains and by majors. See how corruption grows, While mothers, daughters, aunts, Instead of powder'd beaux, From pulpits choose gallants. If we, who wear our wigs With fantail and with snake, Are bubbled thus by prigs; Z----ds! who would be a rake? Had I a heart to fight, I'd knock the Doctor down; Or could I read or write, Egad! I'd wear a gown. Then leave him to his birch;[3] And at the Rose on Sunday, The parson safe at church, I'll treat you with burgundy. [Footnote 1: An ale-house in Dublin, famous for beef-steaks.--_F._] [Footnote 2: Doctor Thomas Sheridan.--_F._] [Footnote 3: Dr. Sheridan was a schoolmaster.--_F._] THE FIVE LADIES' ANSWER TO THE BEAU WITH THE WIG AND WINGS AT HIS HEAD BY DR. SHERIDAN You little scribbling beau, What demon made you write? Because to write you know As much as you can fight. For compliment so scurvy, I wish we had you here; We'd turn you topsy-turvy Into a mug of beer. You thought to make a farce on The man and place we chose; We're sure a single parson Is worth a hundred beaux. And you would make us vassals, Good Mr. Wig and Wings, To silver clocks and tassels; You would, you Thing of Things! Because around your cane A ring of diamonds is set; And you, in some by-lane, Have gain'd a paltry grisette; Shall we, of sense refined, Your trifling nonsense bear, As noisy as the wind, As empty as the air? We hate your empty prattle; And vow and swear 'tis true, There's more in one child's rattle, Than twenty fops like you. THE BEAU'S REPLY TO THE FIVE LADIES' ANSWER Why, how now, dapper black! I smell your gown and cassock, As strong upon your back, As Tisdall[1] smells of a sock. To write such scurvy stuff! Fine ladies never do't; I know you well enough, And eke your cloven foot. Fine ladies, when they write, Nor scold, nor keep a splutter: Their verses give delight, As soft and sweet as butter. But Satan never saw Such haggard lines as these: They stick athwart my maw, As bad as Suffolk cheese. [Footnote 1: Dr. William Tisdall, a clergyman in the north of Ireland, who had paid his addresses to Mrs. Johnson. He is several times mentioned in the Journal to Stella, and is not to be confused with another Tisdall or Tisdell, whom Swift knew in London, also mentioned in the Journal.--_W. E. B._] DR. SHERIDAN'S BALLAD ON BALLY-SPELLIN.[1] 1728 All you that would refine your blood, As pure as famed Llewellyn, By waters clear, come every year To drink at Ballyspellin. Though pox or itch your skins enrich With rubies past the telling, 'Twill clear your skin before you've been A month at Ballyspellin. If lady's cheek be green as leek When she comes from her dwelling, The kindling rose within it glows When she's at Ballyspellin.