The victor, when your steps he trac'd,
Found all the realms before him waste:
You, o'er the high triumphal arch
Pontifick, made your glorious march;
The wondrous arch behind you fell,
And left a chasm profound as Hell:
You, in your capitol secur'd,
A siege as long as Troy endur'd.
MARY THE COOK MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.
WELL, if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head!
You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred.
I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth;
I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth.
Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame
For a parson, who should know better things, to come out with such a name.
Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame and a sin;
And the dean my master is an honester man than you and all your kin:
He has more goodness in his little finger than you have in your whole body:
My master is a parsonable man, and not a spindle-shank'd hoddy doddy.
