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Great physician of state!

(Tho' call'd in so late

To a truly well-meant consultation)

In this fever of war,

Like the spirit of tar,

Thy skill must preserve this poor nation.

Tho' now quite exhausted,

Her vitals all wasted,

She's as meagre, and weak as a lath ;

Yet we hope that thy art

Will recover each part,

Without the assistance of BATH.





WHEN Charles by rule episcopal *
Tar-water first began ;

Methinks, he cry'd, I feel myself
Become a double man.

Its prowess he resolv'd to try,

But oh with shame and trouble,

He found of all his boasted parts,
One thing alone was double.

Enrag'd, he curst the silly book,

The bishop and the tar;

And swore the beggar's blessing was

A better boon by far.

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DEAR merry knight, whose sportive vein Makes am'rous duchesses complain,

While peers stand titt'ring by: Now since you've fairly crack'd your jest, And Pegasus retires to rest,

Permit me to reply.

And trust me, Charles, no real Muse

Such groveling pertness e'er could use,
To help a lame invention :

Virgins are always something shy,

And language that charms Hanbury,

Their lips disdain to mention.

But since you've found this easier road To furnish out a wanton ode,

I'll readily submit;

Where Drury's dames the lays inspire,

Smut shall be styl'd poetic fire,
And bawdry shine for wit.

Besides these nymphs are ready still

Your every pleasure to fulfil,

And ne'er with coyness tease ye:

But shy Apollo's tuneful train

Are skittish, fanciful, and vain,

And oft refuse to ease ye.

Prudent thy deed then, gentle knight,
Such squeamish goddesses to slight,
Since Needham's* serve as well:

Their inspirations raise the song,
As loud, as lofty, and as long,

As thy own odes can tell.

* Needham a famous Courtezan.

How sweet thy strains on Master Prior,

Of Dublin town, tar-water 'squire,

When pleas'd thy verse reveals

Each female fissure from below,
Whence fragrant streams abundant flow,
Resembling carmen's wheels!

Equal thine odes, courageous knight,
Where the fair duchess feels thy spite,
For yielding to be bless'd :

How keen thy pointed satire shines!
While virtue swells the flowing lines,
In native beauty dress'd.

Hence then, Apollo, with your skill, Your Nine, your fountain, and your hill,

And learn your future distance:

Without such aids our verses flow,

As Charles's strains and these may show, If Needham deigns assistance.

But Hussey, frowning, shakes his cane, And Charles flies trembling o'er the main

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