A member of the Esculapian line, Or make a bill; Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; Or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran, In short, in reputation he was solus ! All the old women called him His name was Bolus. 66 a fine man!" Benjamin Bolus, though in trade And cultivated the Belles Lettres. And why should this be thought so odd? Can't men have taste who cure a phthysic? Of poetry though patron god, Apollo patronizes physic. Bolus loved verse, and took so much delight in't, That his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass Of writing the directions on his labels, In dapper couplets, like Gay's Fables; Or rather like the lines in Hudibras. Apothecary's verse!—and where's the treason? He had a patient lying at Death's door, Some three miles from the town-it might be four; And on the label of the stuff He wrote this verse; Which one would think was clear enough And terse, "When taken, "To be well shaken." Next morning, early, Bolus rose; And to the patient's house he goes Who a vile trick of stumbling had : For what's expected from a horse Bolus arrived, and gave a double tap, Knocks of this kind Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance; One loud, and then a little one behind, The servant let him in, with dismal face, Portending some disaster ; John's countenance as rueful looked, and grim, "Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said: John shook his head. "Indeed?-hum !-ha!- that's very odd; "He took the draught? "—John gave a nod. Well-how?-What then?-Speak out, you dunce!" Why then," says John, we shook him once." 66 Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammered out: "We jolted him about." "Zounds!—shake a patient, man—a skake wont do." No, sir and so we gave him two." 66 66 66 "Two shakes!-odds curse! ""T would make the patient worse." It did so, sir-and so a third we tried." Well, and what then?"-" Then, sir, my master died." COLMAN. MISCHIEF-MAKERS. OH! could there in this world be found How doubly blest that place would be, Of gossips' endless prattling. If such a spot were really known, For ever and for ever: There, like a queen, might reign and live, "Tis mischief-makers that remove Far from our hearts the warmth of love, And lead us all to disapprove What gives another pleasure. They seem to take one's part-but when They've heard our cares, unkindly then They soon retail them all again, Mix'd with their poisonous measure. And then they've such a cunning way, I would not tell another; Straight to your neighbour's house they go, And break the peace of high and low, Oh! that the mischief-making crew, And they were painted red or blue, That every one might known them! Then would our villagers forget To rage and quarrel, fume and fret, And fall into an angry pet, With things so much below them. For 'tis a sad degrading part And plant a dagger in the heart We ought to love and cherish! Then let us evermore be found In quietness with all around, While friendship, joy, and peace abound,- F. C. G. |