Part 2 (1/2)

Benjamin Bolus, tho' 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 tho' Patron-G.o.d, Apollo patronises physick.

Bolus love'd verse;--and took so much delight in't, That his prescriptions he resolve'd to write in't.

No opportunity he e'er let pa.s.s 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?

'Tis simply honest dealing:--not a crime;-- When patients swallow physick without reason, It is but fair to give a little rhyme.

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 call'd 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;-- Upon his pad, Who a vile trick of stumbling had: It was, indeed, a very sorry hack; But that's of course: For what's expected from a horse With an Apothecary on his back?

Bolus arrive'd; and gave a doubtful tap;-- Between a single and a double rap.--

Knocks of this kind Are given by Gentlemen who teach to dance: By Fiddlers, and by Opera-singers: One loud, and then a little one behind; As if the knocker fell, by chance, Out of their fingers.

The Servant lets him in, with dismal face, Long as a courtier's out of place-- Portending some disaster; John's countenance as rueful look'd, and grim, As if th' Apothecary had physick'd him,-- And not his master.

”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 stammer'd out: ”We jolted him about.”

”Zounds! Shake a Patient, man!--a shake won't do.”

”No, Sir,--and so we gave him _two_.”

”Two shakes! od's curse!

'Twould make the Patient worse.”

”It did so, Sir!--and so a third we tried.”

”Well, and what then?”--”then, Sir, my master died.”

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Ere WILL had done 'twas waxing wond'rous late; And reeling Bucks the streets began to scour; While guardian Watchmen, with a tottering gait, Cried every thing, quite clear, except the hour.

”Another pot,” says TOM, ”and then, A Song;--and so good night, good Gentlemen!