To George Nim-Dan-Dean, Esq. upon His Incomparable Verses, &c. of August 2d, 1721

Hail, human compound quadrifarious!
Invincible as Wight Briareus!
Hail! Doubly doubled mighty merry one,
Stronger than triple-bodied Geryon!
O may your vastness deign t' excuse
The praises of a puny Muse,
Unable in her utmost flight
To reach thy huge Colossian height.
T' attempt to write like thee were frantic,
Whose lines are, like thyself, gigantic.

Yet let me bless, in humbler strain,
Thy vast, thy bold Cambysian vein,
Poured out t' enrich thy native isle,
As Egypt wont to be with Nile.
O how I joy to see thee wander
In many a winding, loose meander,
In circling mazes, smooth and supple,
And ending in a clink quadruple;
Loud, yet agreeable withal,
Like rivers rattling in their fall.
Thine, sure, is poetry divine,
Where wit and majesty combine;
Where every line, as huge as seven,
If stretched in length, would reach to Heaven:
Here all comparing would be sland'ring;
The least is more than Alexandrine.

Against thy verse Time sees with pain
He whets his envious scythe in vain;
For, though from thee he much may pare,
Yet much thou still wilt have to spare.

Thou hast alone the skill to feast
With Roman elegance of taste,
Who hast of rhymes as vast resources
As Pompey's caterer of courses.

O thou, of all the Nine inspired!
My languid soul, with teaching tired,
How is it raptured when it thinks
On thy harmonious set of clinks;
Each answ'ring each in various rhymes,
Like Echo to St. Patrick's chimes!

Thy Muse, majestic in her rage,
Moves like Statira on the stage,
And scarcely can one page sustain
The length of such a flowing train.
Her train, of variegated dye,
Shows like Thaumantia's in the sky;
Alike they glow, alike they please,
Alike impressed by Phoebus' rays.

Thy verse — (Ye Gods! I cannot bear it)
To what, to what shall I compare it?
'Tis like, what I have oft heard spoke on,
The famous statue of Laocoon.
'Tis like — O yes, 'tis very like it,
The long long string with which you fly kite.
'Tis like what you, and one or two more,
Roar to your Echo in good humor;
And every couplet thou hast writ
Concludes like Rattah-whittah-whit.
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