University of Virginia Library

—when You read this,
Don't think it came ab Inferis.
For tho' (which You, no doubt, have read)
There are Epistles from the Dead,
Yet, take my Word, no modern Ghost
E're once employ'd the Penny-Post;
These scurvy Doggrel Rhimes were penn'd
By Flesh, and Blood of Mortal Hand.
'Tis I alas! send this vile Letter,
T' inform You in Unchristian Metre,
That I (but what care You) am better.
When last You saw Me at the Crown,
Like old French Claret I drank down,
Not all thy Whims cou'd make Me Jolly,
Ev'n Wine increas'd my Melancholy:
Such Storms of Sighs now heav'd my Breast,
You swore, You thought, I was possess'd
With Twenty Pair of Bellows at the least.
Not Carted Bawd, or Dan. de Foe
In Wooden Ruff e're bluster'd so;
Nor Camisars of Gallick Nation,
When they, brimful of Revelation,
Discharge the Pot-guns of their Inspiration.
So Quakers sigh, and grunt, and goggle,
When Sister they in Spirit ogle,
Oppress'd with Load they struggling bear it;
I was depress'd for Want of Spirit.
O! wou'd my Doctor, thought I then,
Order me Honest William Pen,
Or some Good Edifying Sister,
Much Solace She might administer.
But He, Confounded Learned Quack,
Prescrib'd me a damn'd Oxford Hack.
Says He, trot

A Hack so call'd.

Paper-Mill an Hour;
'Twill more relieve than Steel of Low'r,
Succussate till You gall your Bum,
There's Cubebs in't, and Cardamum.
Our Hypocon—Ecclesiasticks
Say the best Physick is Gymnasticks;
And, if you'd gallop thro' a Course,
Your ablest Doctor is—a Horse.
This Point they learnedly discuss,
And prove from fam'd Bucephalus,
Who bore his Lord thro' Pikes, and Rapiers,
And often cur'd him of the Vapours.
But howsoe're the Learned smatter,
I dare pronounce 'tis no such Matter.
For Quixot, the fam'd Mancha Knight,
Rode much, yet got but little by't.
And trusty Rosinant, I'm sure,
Was qualify'd as well to Cure;
His sober Trot was full as good,
To rectify, and churn the Blood.
Did he not scour thro' Thick, and Thin,
With Pate crack'd outward, and within?
Imaginary Wars maintain
Against the Wind-Mills of his Brain?
That did by Whirling round, create
Vertigo's in his crazy Pate;
Vertigo's, which sage Sancho sent
To Baratarian Government;
And was not He when all was o're,
As Great a Quixot as before?
Ergo their Argumental Chat
Is Spurious, and Sophisticate.
Such Disputants as well may venture
To clear the Nation's whole Debenture,
And to Committees make appear
What R***ge has cheated in Small-Beer;
What Dilatory Gen'rals gain,
How much they pocket each Campaign;
Quit the Late Min'stry, and make out
The J***to's Loyal, St****pe Stout;
How many Millions sunk have been,
Since our D**l**v****r came in;
What Whigs are Plotting, and divine
What Guiscard's Penknife did design;
As work a Cure, or state the Case
How Hypo—makes Mankind an Ass.
But, weighty Arguments aside,
Physicians tell me, I must ride.
I therefore earnestly request
You'd use Suburbian Interest,
That when at London I arrive,
I may ascend the Box, and drive:
And in Requital, mounted there,
I'll take Thee up—without a Fare.