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'And no great wonder,' Death replies :
'However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms may make amends.'
'Perhaps,' says Dobson, so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight.'

'This is a shocking tale, in truth;

But there's some comfort still,' says Death:
" Each strives your sadness to amuse;
I warrant, you hear all the news.

'There's none,' he cries; and if there were,
I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.'
'Nay, then,' the spectre stern rejoined,
'These are unjustifiable yearnings;
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You have your three sufficient warnings;
So come along, no more we'll part :'
He said and touched him with his dart;
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate.-So ends my tale.

Ex. 207.

The Three Black Crows.

Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand;
'Hark ye,' said he, ''tis an odd story this
About the crows! '-'I don't know what it is,'
Replied his friend. 'No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from, it is the common chat;
But you shall hear an odd affair indeed!
And that it happened they are all agreed :
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, who lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a vomit, threw up Three Black Crows!'

Thrale.

Impossible !'- -Nay, but 'tis really true ;
I had it from good hands, and so may you.'
From whose I pray ·?'- -So, having named the man
Straight to inquire, his curious comrade ran.
'Sir, did you tell?'-relating the affair.
'Yes, sir, I did; and, if 'tis worth your care,
"Twas Mr.'-such an one- who told it me?

But, by the bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three!'.
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Quick to the third the virtuoso went.

'Sir,'-and so forth.-
Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number not exact.
It was not Two black crows, 'twas only One;
The truth of that you may depend upon;
The gentleman himself told me the case."
'Where may

I find him?'-' Why, in'-such a place.
Away he went, and having found him out
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.'.
Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know, if true what he had heard :
'Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ?'-' Not I!'
'Bless me!-how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, Three, Two, and One ;
And here, I find, all comes at last to None!
Did you say anything of a crow at all?'-
'Crow-crow-perhaps I might; now I recall
The matter over.'-' And pray, sir, what was't?'
Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last

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I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was- -as black, sir, as a crow,'

Ex, 208.

The Newcastle Apothecary.

A man in many a country town we know
Professing openly with Death to wrestle;
Entering the field against the grimly foe,
Armed with a mortar and a pestle.

Yet some affirm, no enemies they are;
But meet just like prize-fighters in a fair:
Who first shake hands before they box,
Then give each other plaguy knocks,
With all the love and kindness of a brother.
Sr, many a suffering patient saith,—
Though the apothecary fights with Death,
Still they're sworn friends to one another.

A member of this Esculapian line,
Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne :
No man could better gild a pill;

Or make a bill!

Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister;
Or draw a tooth out of your head;

Or chatter scandal by your bed;

Or spread a plaster.

Byrom.

Of occupations, these were quantum suff.:
Yet still he thought the list not long enough
And therefore midwifery he chose to pin to't.
This balanced things; for, if he hurled
A few score mortals from the world,

He made amends by bringing others into't.
His fame full six miles round the country ran,
In short, in reputation he was solus!

All the old women called him 'a fine man!'
His name was Bolus.

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 that cure a phthisic?

Of poetry though patron god,

Apollo patronises 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?
'Tis simple honest dealing;-not a crime:
When patients swallow physic 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 called cathartical;

And on the label of the stuff,

He wrote this verse:

Which one should 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 arrived, and gave a double 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 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,
As if the apothecary had physicked 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 stammered 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!-odds 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!'

Ex. 209. Lodgings for Single Gentlemen.

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Colman.

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen Lodgings to Let,' stare him full in the face :
Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only!
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun ;-
Or like two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not by any means heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same !—and the next !—and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed.
Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him,
For his skin, 'like a lady's loose gown,' hung about him!
So he sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,

'I have lost many pounds—make me well-there's a guinea.' The doctor looked wise :- A slow fever,' he said; Prescribed sudorifics-and going to bed.

'Sudorifics in bed,' exclaimed Will, ' are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!'
Will kicked out the doctor ;-but, when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host, he said-'Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago?

'Look ye, landlord, I think,' argued Will with a grin,
'That with honest intentions you first took me in:
But from the first night-and to say it I'm bold—
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold!'

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Quoth the landlord,- Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ;
I've let lodgings ten years, -I'm a baker to boot;

In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately-over my oven.'

'The oven!!!' says Will.-Says the host, 'Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion!

Why so crusty, good sir?'-'Zounds!' cried Will in a taking,

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Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?'

Will paid for his rooms. Cried the host, with a sneer,

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'Well, I see you have been going away half a year.'

Friend, we can't well agree;-yet no quarrel'-Will

said;

'But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread.'

Colman.

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