Attention seizes every ear; We pant for the description here: "Pindar," we say, "'twill leave thee now." And could you really discover, ....Mark'd you her cheek of rosy hue? * We see the Dame, in rustic pride, Then pans and pickling skillets rise, While salves and caudle-cups between, O! should your genius ever rise, Their sovereign's power to rehearse, SHERIDAN'S VERS DE SOCIETE. In what are called Vers de Société, or drawing-room verses, he took great delight; and there remain among his papers several sketches of these trifles. Mr. Moore once heard him repeat, in a ball-room, some verses which he had written on Waltzing, and of which he has given us the following: "With tranquil step, and timid downcast glance, While, hand in hand, through Eden's bowers they rov'd Turn'd their poor heads and taught them how to Walse. * * * For so the Law's laid down by Baron Trip."* He had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly for that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted. The following are specimens from a poem of this kind, which he wrote on the loss of a lady's trunk: *This gentleman, whose name suits so aptly as a legal authority on the subject of Waltzing, was, at the time these verses were written, well known in the dancing circles. MY TRUNK ! (To Anne.) Have you heard, my dear Anne, how my spirits are sunk? Have you heard of the cause? Oh, the loss of my Trunk! For exertion or firmness I've never yet slunk ; But my fortitude's gune with the loss of my Trunk! Stout Lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk ; Yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my Trunk! For with whom can I flirt without aid from my Trunk? * * * * * Accurs'd be the thief, the old rascally hunks, Is hang'd-while he's safe, who has plunder'd my Trunk! * * * * * There's a phrase amongst lawyers, when nunc's put for tunc; From another of these trifles, (which, no doubt, produced much gaiety at the breakfast-table,) the following extracts will be sufficient:— Lord Petre's house was built by Payne- If hearts had windows, through the pane * * * * At breakfast I could scarce refrain The roll that might have fall'n to Jane, &c. He had a particular horror of this word. Another, written on a Mr. Bigg, contains some ludicrous couplets : I own he's not fam'd for a reel or a jig, Tom Sheridan there surpasses Tom Bigg. Zag, like a crab-so no dancer is Bigg. Those who think him a coxcomb, or call him a prig, How little they know of the mind of my Bigg! Though he ne'er can be mine, Hope will catch a twig- Oh give me, with him, but a cottage and pig, And content I would live on Beans, Bacon, and Bigg. A few more of these light productions remain among his papers, but their wit is gone with those for whom they were written; the wings of Time "eripuere jocos." Of a very different description are the following striking and spirited fragments, written by him, apparently, about the year 1794, and addressed to Lord Howe and the other naval heroes of that period, to console them for the neglect they experienced from the Government, while ribands and titles were lavished on the Whig Seceders : Never mind them, brave black Dick, Though they've played thee such a trick- Get you to your post and quarters. Look upon the azure sea, There's a Sailor's Taffety! Damn their ribands and their garters, Get you to your post and quarters. Think, on what things are ribands shower'd The two Sir Georges-Y and H ! Look to what rubbish stars will stick, To Dicky Hn and Johnny D—k! Or, perhaps and worse by half- While B- -k garters his Dutch hose |