Chloe, observing this disgrace,
On Pam cut out his rueful face.
By G--, says Dan, 'tis very hard,
Cut out at dice, cut out at card!
G. ROCHFORT _sculp._
ON THE SAME PICTURE
Whilst you three merry poets traffic
To give us a description graphic
Of Dan's large nose in modern sapphic;
I spend my time in making sermons,
Or writing libels on the Germans,
Or murmuring at Whigs' preferments.
But when I would find rhyme for Rochfort,
And look in English, French, and Scotch for't,
At last I'm fairly forced to botch for't.
Bid Lady Betty recollect her,
And tell, who was it could direct her
To draw the face of such a spectre?
I must confess, that as to me, sirs,
Though I ne'er saw her hold the scissars,
I now could safely swear it is hers.
'Tis true, no nose could come in better;
'Tis a vast subject stuff'd with matter,
Which all may handle, none can flatter.
Take courage, Dan; this plainly shows,
That not the wisest mortal knows
What fortune may befall his nose.
Show me the brightest Irish toast,
Who from her lover e'er could boast
Above a song or two at most:
For thee three poets now are drudging all,
To praise the cheeks, chin, nose, the bridge and all,
Both of the picture and original.
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