Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ANSWER, by THOMAS SHERIDAN (1687-1738)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ANSWER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Three merry lads you own we are
Last Line: The tables.


Three merry lads you own we are;
'Tis very true, and free from care,
But envious we cannot bear,
Believe, Sir.

For were all forms of beauty thine,
Were you like Nereus soft and fine,
We should not in the least repine,
Or grieve, Sir.

Then know from us, most beauteous Dan,
That roughness best becomes a man;
'Tis woman should be pale and wan,
And taper;

And all your trifling beaux and fops,
Who comb their brows and sleek their chops,
Are but offspring of toy-shops,
Mere vapor.

We know your morning hours you pass
To cull and gather out a face;
Is this the way you take your glass?
Forbear it:

Those loads of paint upon your toilet
Will never mend your face, but spoil it;
It looks as if you did parboil it;
Drink claret.

Your cheeks by sleeking are so lean
That they're like Cynthia in the wane,
Or breast of goose when 'tis picked clean,
Or pullet.

See what by drinking you have done;
You've made your phiz a skeleton,
From the long distance of your crown,
T' your gullet.

You say your face is better hung
Than ours -- by what? By nose or tongue?
In not explaining, you were wrong
To us, Sir.

Because we thus must state the case,
That you have got a hanging face;
Th' untimely end's damned disgrace
Of noose, Sir.

But yet be not cast down to see
A weaver will your hangman be;
You'll only hang in tapestry,
With many.

And then the ladies, I suppose,
Will praise your longitude of nose,
For latent charms within your clothes,
Dear Danny.

Thus will the fair of every age,
From all parts make their pilgrimage,
Worship thy nose with pious rage
Of love, Sir.

All their religion will be spent
About thy woven monument,
And not an orison be sent
To Jove, Sir.

You the famed idol will become,
What gardens graced in ancient Rome,
By matrons worshipped in the gloom
Of night, Sir.

O happy Dan, thrice happy sure,
Thy fame forever shall endure,
Who after death can love secure
At sight, Sir.

So far I thought it was my duty
To dwell upon your boasted beauty.
Now I'll proceed a word or two t' ye
In answer

To that part where you carry on
This paradox, that rock and stone
In your opinion are all one;
How can, Sir,

A man of reas'ning so profound,
So stupidly be run aground,
As things so diff'rent to confound
T' our senses?

Except you judged them by the knock
Of near an equal hardy block,
Such an experimental stroke
Convinces.

Then might you be by dint of reason
A proper judge on this occasion;
'Gainst feeling there's no disputation
Is granted.

Therefore to thy superior wit,
Who made the trial, we submit;
Thy head to prove the truth of it
We wanted.

In one assertion you're to blame,
Where Dan and Sherry's made the same,
Endeavoring to have your name
Refined so.

You'll see most grossly you mistook
(The better half you say you took);
If you consult your spelling book,
You'll find so.

S, H, E, she, and R, I, ri,
Both put together make Sheri;
D, A, N, Dan make up the three
Syllables.

Dan is but one, and Sheri two;
Then, Sir, your choice will never do;
Therefore, I've turned, my friend, on you
The tables.





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