Tom was a little merry grig,
Fiddled and danced to his own jig;
Good-natured, but a little silly;
Irresolute, and shally-shilly:
What he should do, he cou'dn't guess.
Swift used him like a man at chess;
He told him once that he had wit,
But was in jest, and Tom was bit.
Thought himself second son of Phœbus,
For ballad, pun, lampoon, and rebus.
He took a draught of Helicon,
But swallowed so much water down,
He got a dropsy; now they say, 'tis
Turn'd to poetic diabetes;
For all the liquor he has pass'd,
Is without spirit, salt, or taste:
But, since it pass'd, Tom thought it wit,
And so he writ, and writ, and writ:
He writ the famous Punning Art,
The Benefit of p—s and f—t;
He writ the Wonder of all Wonders;
He writ the Blunder of all Blunders;
He writ a merry farce or poppet,
Taught actors how to squeak and hop it;
A treatise on the Wooden-man[15],
A ballad on the nose of Dan;
The art of making April fools,
The four-and-thirty quibbling rules.
The learned say, that Tom went snacks
With Philomaths, for almanacks;
Though they divided are, for some say,
He writ for Whaley, some for Cumpstey[16].
Hundreds there are, who will make oath,
That he writ almanacks for both;
And, though they made the calculations,
Tom writ the monthly observations!
Such were his writings, but his chatter
Was one continual clitter-clatter.
Swift slit his tongue, and made it talk,
Cry, 'Cup o' sack,' and 'Walk, knave, walk!'
And fitted little prating Pall
For wire-cage, in Common-Hall;
Made him expert at quibble-jargon,
And quaint at selling of a bargain.
Pall, he could talk in different linguos,
But he could not be taught distinguos:
Swift tried in vain, and angry thereat,
Into a spaniel turn'd the parrot;
Made him to walk on his hind-legs,
He dances, fawns, and paws, and begs;
Then cuts a caper o'er a stick[17],
Lies close, does whine, and creep, and lick:
Swift put a bit upon his snout,
Poor Tom! he daren't look about;
But when that Swift does give the word,
He snaps it up, though 'twere a t—.
Swift strokes his back, and gives him victual,
And then he makes him lick his spittle.
Sometimes he takes him on his lap,
And makes him grin, and snarl, and snap.
He sets the little cur at me;
Kick'd, he leapt upon his knee;
I took him by the neck to shake him,
And made him void his album Græcum.
'Turn out the stinking cur, pox take him!'
Quoth Swift: though Swift could sooner want any
Thing in the world, than a Tanta-ny,
And thus not only makes his grig
A parrot, spaniel, but his pig.
[15] The wooden-man was a famed door-post in Dublin.
[16] Famous Irish almanack makers.
[17] This was literally true between Swift and Sheridan.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The Second Part of this Work will be published with all convenient expedition: to which will be added, A small Treatise of Conundrums, Carriwhichits, and Long-petites; together with the Winter-fire's Diversion; The Art of making Rebuses; The Antiquity of Hoop-petticoats proved from Adam's two Daughters, Calmana and Delbora, &c. &c. &c.