'Those Cordial Drops, have giv'n me ease, 'Another dose, Sir, if you please:

'And, as for Med'cines I am come, 'I think I'll take a bottle home.'

'You can't do better:-when you're low, 'They soon will make your spirits flow. 'These Pills within your chamber keep, 'They are decided friends to sleep. 'And, at your meals, instead of wine, 'Take this digestive Anodyne. 'Should you invigoration want,

'Employ this fine Corroborant.

'These curious Panaceas will,

'If well applied, cure ev'ry ill.

'So take them home; and read the Bill,
'Which with my signature at top,
'Explains the Med'cines of my Shop.
'On these you may have firm reliance ;
'So set the College at defiance.

' And should they not your health restore,
'You now know where to send for more.'-

-' John, call the Carriage to the door.'

'The Lady having said Adieu, 'I now, Sir, can attend to you.

'So Mr. Alderman, relate,

'What ails you, and each symptom state.'—

-'Doctor, I've heard that you're renown'd 'By dint of making sick men sound; 'And I am in no common fright

'Lest I should lose my appetite: 'For neither Fish, nor Flesh, nor Stew 'Can tempt me as they us'd to do. 'But first you 'll let me know for certain 'Who is the rogue behind the curtain. 'He looks as he were made of stone, 'With nought for cheeks and chin but bone. 'His eyes are dismal, hollow sockets, 'As empty as a Poet's pockets.

'I see what he's about:-why zounds, 'I'll take no drugs that fellow pounds. 'I'd better far, to save my bacon,

'Go back to those I have forsaken.

And look once more for healing knowledge,

'To the grave Sages of the College.

'They'll do their best, and I won't thwart

'em ;

'I then shall die,-secundum artem ;

'And not be finish'd by a Dunce

'Whose Trade's to KILL and CURE at once.'

THE SOT

THE Various ways which DEATH contrives, To put an end to human Lives,

Would, were they told in prose or song,
Make out a tale so very long,

That few, aye very few, would lend
A kind attention to the end:

But e're they reach'd the fiftieth line,
Would the dull, tedious work resign.
'Tis how men live, not how they die,
That stirs up CURIOSITY.

Our thoughts, our spirits we convene
To look upon the living scene.
The Actor comes, he plays his part,
With Comic or with Tragic art;
But if 'tis order'd that he dies,
We leave him to his obsequies,
And the impatient eye expects
The hero that shall enter next.
But still my subject bids me state,
The whims and phantasies of Fate.