In libris bellis, tu parum parcis ocellis;
Dum nimium scribis, vel talpa caecior ibis,
Aut ad vina redis, nam sic tua lumina laedis: 
Sed tibi coenanti sunt collyria tanti? 
Nunquid eges visu, dum comples omnia risu? 
Heu Sheridan caecus, heu eris nunc cercopithecus. 
Nunc bene nasutus mittet tibi carmina tutus: 
Nunc ope Burgundi, malus Helsham ridet abunda,
Nec Phoebe fili versum quis[2] mittere Ryly. 
  Quid tibi cum libris? relavet tua lumina Tybris[3]
Mixtus Saturno;[4] penso sed parce diurno
Observes hoc tu, nec scriptis utere noctu. 
Nonnulli mingunt et palpebras sibi tingunt. 
Quidam purgantes, libros in stercore nantes
Lingunt; sic vinces videndo, mi bone, lynces. 
Culum oculum tergis, dum scripta hoc flumine mergis;
Tunc oculi et nates, ni fallor, agent tibi grates. 
Vim fuge Decani, nec sit tibi cura Delani: 
Heu tibi si scribant, aut si tibi fercula libant,
Pone loco mortis, rapis fera pocula fortis
Haec tibi pauca dedi, sed consule Betty my Lady,
Huic te des solae, nec egebis pharmacopolae. 
    Haec somnians cecini,
                                             JON.  SWIFT.

Oct. 23, 1718.

[Footnote 1:  Dr. Richard Helsham.]

[Footnote 2:  Pro potes.—­Horat.]

[Footnote 3:  Pro quovis fluvio.—­Virg.]

[Footnote 4:  Saccharo Saturni.]

SWIFT TO SHERIDAN, IN REPLY

Tom, for a goose you keep but base quills,
They’re fit for nothing else but pasquils. 
I’ve often heard it from the wise,
That inflammations in the eyes
Will quickly fall upon the tongue,
And thence, as famed John Bunyan sung,
From out the pen will presently
On paper dribble daintily. 
Suppose I call’d you goose, it is hard
One word should stick thus in your gizzard. 
You’re my goose, and no other man’s;
And you know, all my geese are swans: 
Only one scurvy thing I find,
Swans sing when dying, geese when blind. 
But now I smoke where lies the slander,—­
I call’d you goose instead of gander;
For that, dear Tom, ne’er fret and vex,
I’m sure you cackle like the sex. 
I know the gander always goes
With a quill stuck across his nose: 
So your eternal pen is still
Or in your claw, or in your bill. 
But whether you can tread or hatch,
I’ve something else to do than watch. 
As for your writing I am dead,
I leave it for the second head.

Deanery-House, Oct. 27, 1718.

AN ANSWER BY SHERIDAN