Broad Grins Part 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."

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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!

"I've Lyricks, such as _Bons Vivants_ indite, In which your bibbers of Champagne delight,-- The Poetaster, bawling them in clubs, Obtains a miserably noted name; And every noisy Baccha.n.a.lian dubs The Singing-Writer with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d Fame."

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LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

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, Hire'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only; But WILL was so fat he appear'd like a ton;-- Or like Two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated; But, all the night long, he felt fever'd, and heated; And, tho' 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 perspire'd like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd; Week past 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.

He sent for a Doctor; and cried, like a ninny, "I have lost many pounds--make me well--there's a guinea."

The Doctor look'd wise:--"a slow fever," he said: Prescribe'd sudorificks,--and going to bed.

"Sudorificks in bed," exclaim'd WILL, "are humbugs!

I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

WILL kick'd 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'e, 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 have been so d.a.m.n'd hot, that I'm sure I caught cold."

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 pa.s.sion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fas.h.i.+on.

Why so crusty, good Sir?"--"Zounds!" cries WILL, in a taking, "Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

WILL paid for his rooms;--cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've 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_."[2]

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THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR.

PART FIRST.

IN our Fifth Harry's reign, when 'twas the fas.h.i.+on To thump the French, poor creatures! to excess;-- Tho' Britons, now a days, shew more compa.s.sion, And thump them, certainly, a great deal less;--

In Harry's reign, when flush'd Lancastrian roses Of York's pale blossoms had usurp'd the right;[3]

As wine drives Nature out of drunkards' noses, Till red, triumphantly, eclipses white;-- In Harry's reign--but let me to my song, Or good king Harry's reign may seem too long.