A member of the Esculapian line, Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; Or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran, Benjamin Bolus, though in trade, (Which oftentimes will genius fetter), Read works of fancy, it is said, 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. Of writing the directions on his labels, 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; To whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article, In pharmacy, that's called cathartical. 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, Long as a courtier's out of place— 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." "Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammered out: "We jolted him about." "Zounds!-shake a patient, man—a shake wont do." 66 No, sir—and so we gave him two." "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 gossip's endless prattling. If such a spot were really known, And in it she might fix her throne, 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, 66 Don't mention what I've said, I pray ;— 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 That every one might know them! Then would our villagers forget With things so much below them. For, 'tis a sad degrading part While friendship, joy, and peace abound, And angry feelings perish! F. C. G. |