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A Reply, By Sheridan, To Delany
By Jonathan Swift
I like your collyrium,
Take my eyes, sir, and clear ye 'um,
'Twill gain you a great reputation;
By this you may rise,
Like the doctor so wise,[1]
Who open'd the eyes of the nation.
And these, I must tell ye,
Are bigger than its belly; -
You know, there’s in Livy a story
Of the hands and the feet
Denying of meat, -
Don't I write in the dark like a Tory?
Your water so far goes,
'Twould serve for an Argus,
Were all his whole hundred sore;
So many we read
He had in his head,
Or Ovid's a son of a whore.
For your recipe, sir,
May my lids never stir,
If ever I think once to fee you;
For I'd have you to know,
When abroad I can go,
That it's honour enough, if I see you.
Extra Info:
[Footnote 1: Probably Dr. Davenant.]
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