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 arriv'd; and gave a doubtful tap,
Between a single and a double rap;
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 physic'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?-Johu 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! 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."
CUNNING ISAAC'S ESCAPE
FROM THE DUENNA.
A COMIC-POETIC BAGATELLE, BY O'KEEFE.
Before you, behold debonair free and gay,
A beau just from Spain, from his wife run away:
No slim macaroni-the ladies to teaze,
But Isaac, a cunning, smart and sharp Portugueze;
By art and age trick'd, my fortune for life
Was a termagant scold, in the shape of a wife;
Ill-fashion'd, ill-natured, ill-featur'd, and old,
With neither health, wit, understanding, or gold.
From my bargain I therefore with haste male escape,
And through Seville most manfully cried out a rape;
At my heels came my harridan roaring aloud,
On each side beset by the giggling crowd:
To the sea side she came, for her dear husband calling,
With tough lungs of leather-like Cerberus bawling.
She held by my cloak, which I shrewdly perceiving,
And assured were she drown'd' twould not cause any grieving,
So away slipt my garment; the waves quickly caught her;
Like a porpus, I left her to flounce in the water,
Thence how she escap'd, whether now out or now in,
Among friends-her dear Isaac regards not a pin.
On ship-board I got, we quick hoisted all sail,
While old Margaret perhaps might be food for a whale;
To the tit-bit he's welcome, for me there's no question,
And I heartily wish him a happy digestion;
Most kind were the breezes which brought to this shere
Cunning Isaac, who ne'er thinks of leaving it more;
Tho' my troubles since landing surpass all belief,
Yet I've prove'd altogether a amart little thief.
Thro' St. Paul's windy church-yard, 'midst uproar and pother,
Cries a voice, " Penknives, vatches, shoe-strings"-'twas my
With surprise somewhat struck, with vexation much more,
For we ne'er own relations who chance to be poor:
I wink'd slyly to him, he follow'd the beck,
And was close at my heels, with shop round his neck;
He told me with tears of many sad failures
He had met with on ship-board, by trade with the sailors;
To whom he sold vatches, at prices quite low,
Most excellent work, with no fault, but 'townt go;
His tricks once detected, to a mummy they beat him,
ay the tars once, like savages, threaten'd to eat him;
In a hogshead of vinegar steep the old smouch,"
For with mustard, they swore, he'd make excellent sauce.
Thus basted and pickled, to London he came,
With the loss of his trinkets, half bind and half lame.
But this tale of my brother has led me astray,
I'll return to what further I met in my way:
In a street as I pass'd, the rabble came running,
Where a pick-pock tnewly had practis'd his cunning;
I waddled away, way, lest their rage I should meet,
And with squeezes and bumps, made my way through the street;
O'er a wh el-barrow handle, in my terror, I stumbled,
And into the channel head-forwards I tumb'ed:
The thief made his escape, "stop thief!" stil was the roar,
When that I was the thief, a fat fish-woman swore;
As the circle around me grew bigger and bigger,
'Tis amazing what jests they bestowed on my figure:
A vintner, half-busting, declared 'twou'd be fun,
To place me, like Bacchus, astride of a tun;
And if I were hung at his dooras a sign,
He should get more by me, than he could by his wine:
Then a whole groupe of 'prentices (impudent cubs,)
Vow'd like nothing I look'd. but a foul knave of clubs;
Still, that I was the thref, they all ventured to swear,
And were going to take me before the lord mayor:
By good luck, at last. I wip'd off the aspersion,
But the dirt still stuck close, for the rabble's diversion,
So vow'd thro' the streets no longer I'd roam,
And a snug hackney-coach convey'd me safe home:
Then I dress'd me in haste, my respects to pay here,
For you know in that pickle I could not appear.
That my person is handsome, you'll make no denial,
Tho' my impudent wife said 'twas like a base-viol;
My round belly was swell'd with a dropsy, she said,
And my countenance look'd like a sick baboon's head:
There's a wife for a gentleman; and what is still worse,
To make up for't, she brought not a sous in her purse;
Had she not wanted coin, lack of charms had ne'er teaz'd me,
Tho' her looks might have highten'd, her gold would have
Her features, tho'furrow'd, like Hebe's had shone,
And her dead eyes prov'd sparklers, as bright as my own;
But lest her description should keep you too long,
I'll give what remains, with your leave, in a song.
Tune-" Balance a Straw."
To describe poor old Marg'ret, how easy the task,
When her likeness you see in a frightful old mask;
But lest you should think me a whimsical man,
I'll paint you her features as well as I can.
Thank fortune she's gone, and again I am free,
To coquet and make love, if the ladies like me.
Her visage was swarthy-a dull dingy tint,
And her small ferret eyes did most lovingly squint,
And they bore (stead of matching) a different hue,
For one peeper was black, and the other was blue,
All freckled her neck, like a stale turkey egg,
And six inches too short was her pretty right leg;
Then her mouth was so damag'd, with comfits and plumbs,
Like bad tenants, her teeth ran away from her gums.
Survey me then, fair ones, how smart I appear,
Bid away for the lot. I'm my own auctioneer,
Little Isaac, just landed on old England's fair coast,
A going-a-going -to her that bids most;
Bid away then with spirit, you quickly shall see
How grateful I'll prove, if the ladies like me.
PROLOGUE TO AN ENTERTAINMENT,
CALLED "CARE NONSUITED"
Criminal-like, the hour of trial near,
Before this dread tribunal, I appear,
Trembling, doubting-hoping to win the day;
Obtain your smiles, and send you pleas'd away.
From critic's vengeance, heavens my cause forefend,
And grant your praises to my efforts bend;
Unnerve th' uplifted arm of envious Spite,
Withhold the poison'd dart's impending flight;
Now wrest the arrow from the bow of Spleen, -
Whose satire-barbed point, mali: nant, keen,
Wou'd wound the social hour, and mar the scene
Where frolic Mirth, dame Reason comes to greet,
And song, and jest, in moral boundaries meet:
For queen Morality is not so nice,
As always rob'd in snow, or crown'd with ice;
She's full instructive in her gayest mood,
As when she's convent-garb'd in matron's hood:
More aptly too her admonitions flow,
Then through sententious phrase, with frigid brow;
"For trifles light, to great expanded souls,
"Give proof as strong, as holy writ unfolds."
Let grey-beards measure, and sagacious plan
Dull pedant rules to form the moral man;
The spring, the source of moral mirth we find,
In lib'ral thought-in matter unconfin'd;
Through various fields, as step by step we range,
Some moral point we meet in ev'ry change.
First, the heedless youth begins his mad career,
Just come of age, entrapp'd in fashion's snare,
And heir to thousands, three times ten a year. -
To hazard flies-all gaiete de cœur !
"A thousand on that cast! --lost-'gain-thrice o'er."
Black-leg'd-pigeon'd-he next to bagnio hies,
And at the shrine of some frail Cyprian, sighs.
(Imitates.)-"I love you, damme. - (Hicups.)-You see
"Some wine, my girl-a bottle, and a pipe.
"Play'd deep just now-damme! - eh? -glorious fun!
"I lost twelve thousand--damme!-neatly done!"
Behold him beggar'd in this gadbrain race,
Avoid his steps-you'll shew a moral grace,
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