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The Works of the Right Honourable Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams

... From the Originals in the Possession of His Grandson The Right Hon. The Earl of Essex and Others: With Notes by Horace Walpole ... In Three Volumes, with Portraits

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collapse sectionI. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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TAR-WATER, A BALLAD: INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE PHILIP EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 III. 


21

TAR-WATER, A BALLAD: INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE PHILIP EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

SINCE good Master Prior,
The Tar-water 'squire,
Without being counted to blame,
Vulgar patrons hath scorn'd,
And his treatise adorn'd
With the lustre of Chesterfield's name;
Great Mecænas of arts!
And all men of parts,
(Tho' they're not much the growth of the time)
I hope 'twill be meet
To lay at your feet
The same lofty subject in rhyme.

22

Then come, let us sing!
Death, a fig for thy sting!
I think we shall serve thee a trick;
For the Bishop of Cloyne
Hast at last laid a mine,
That will blow up both thee and old Nick.
Have but faith in his treatise,
Tho' you've stone, diabetes,
Gout, or fever, tar-water's specific;
If you're costive, 'twill work;
If you purge, 'tis a cork;
And, if old, it will make you prolific.

23

All ye fair ones, who lie sick,
Leave off doctors and physic,
Tar-water will cure all your ails;
Have you rheums or defluctions,
Or whims, or obstructions,
It will set right your heads and your tails.
See, each tall slender maid
Now lifts up her head,
Like a beautiful fir on the mountain!
While, salubrious, flow,
From a fissure below,
The streams of a turpentine fountain.
Each Nymph from afar,
Is so scented with tar,
That unless they're permitted to---,
All the Devils in hell
(So alike is the smell)
Can't know a --- from a cart wheel.

24

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.