See what by drinking you have done:
You've made your phiz a skeleton,
From the long distance of your crown,
t' your gullet.
A REJOINDER.
BY THE DEAN, IN JACKSON'S NAME.
WEARIED with saying grace and prayer,
I hasten'd down to country air,
To read your answer, and prepare
reply to 't:
But your fair lines so grossly flatter,
Pray, do they praise me, or bespatter?
I must suspect you mean the latter —
Ah! slyboot!
It must be so! what else, alas!
Can mean by culling of a face,
And all that stuff of toilet, glass,
and box-comb?
But be't as 'twill, this you must grant,
That you're a dawb, whilst I but paint;
Then which of us two is the quaint-
er coxcomb?
I value not your jokes of noose,
Your gibes, and all your foul abuse,
More than the dirt beneath my shoes,
nor fear it:
