Much better b' half th'n you, n'r you, n'r him,
And that I'd rid'cule their 'nd your flam-flim,
Ay b't then, p'rhaps, says you, t's a merry whim
With 'bundance of mark'd notes i' th' rim,
So th't I ought n't for t' be morose 'nd t' look grim,
Think n't your 'p'stle put m' in a megrim;
Though 'n rep't't'on day, I 'ppear ver' slim,
Th' last bowl 't Helsham's did m' head t' swim,
So th't I h'd man' aches 'n 'v'ry scruhb'd limb,
Cause th' top of th' bowl Ih'd oft us'd t' skim;
And b'sides D'lan' swears th't Ih'd swall'w'd s'v'r'l brim-
mers, 'nd that my vis'ge's cov'r'd o'er with r'd pim-
ples: m'r'o'er though m' scull were ('s 'tis n't) 's strong's tim-
ber, 't must have ak'd. Th' clans of th' c'llege Sanh'drim,
GEORGE-NIM-DAN-DEAN'S ANSWER.
DEAR Sheridan! a gentle pair
Of Gaulstown lads (for such they are)
Beside a brace of grave divines,
Adore the smoothness of thy lines:
Smooth as our basin's silver flood,
Ere George had robb'd it of its mud;
- ↑ Dr. James Stopford, afterward bishop of Cloyne.
