THO with puffs daily papers are cramm'd, Sir,

With antidotes for ev'ry ail,

I'll shew a specific not shamm'd, Sir,
A Nostrum which never can fail.
The Drop and Pill

May heal or kill,

As Doctors on Doctors have done;

But snug and sure,

To work a cure,
Apply th' Elixir l'Argent.

For weak consciences 'tis an Emetic;
A Restorative for a lost fame;
If fear gravels you, this Di'retic
Discharges each symptom of shame.
Like Achilles from Styx,

No wound will fix,

When this Unguentum is on.
Nay, chuse to anoint
Ev'n Justice's point,

'Tis blunt by Elixir l'Argent.

'Tis a Stiptic to stop maiden's scruples,
An Opiate makes jealousy rest;
'Tis a Lecture where all men are pupils,
Art and science without it a jest.
Be witty, be wise,

Win Learning's prize,

This Recipe want you're undone:
Merit vainly may strive,
No genius can thrive,

But the genius who gets the 'Argent.

His Honour demurs to a hearing,
The Agent demurs to his plan,
The Witness demurs to his swearing,
And Madam demurs to her man;
Yet each sick breast:

Demurs digest,

Secundum artem they're gone,
When a Quantum suff.
Is took of the stuff,

Elixir nouveau de l'Argent.

When sickness voluptuousness seizes,
The medical corps in array,
Sword by side take the field 'gainst diseases,
And, Swiss-like, give battle for pay.
Not a word of Self,

Accepting the pelf,

That lesson the learned ne'er con,
But faith we're flamm'd,

We might dye and be damn'd,

But for our Elixir l'Argent.

HERE GOES.

TUNE.

"To sigh or complain,"

NOME care-curing Mirth
From Wit's bower forth,

Bring Humour, your brother, along, Hospitality's here,

And Harmony near,

To chorus droll Sentiment's song.

In Comedy trim,

Joke, Gesture, and Whim,

With Trios will keep up the ball;

By order of Taste

We

open the feast

Óf Friendship in Liberty-hall.

Who'll President be?

Unanimity, see

He's order'd to sit as our host;

My Lord Common Sense,

With pains and expence,

Introduc'd him to give out the toast.

Tho' Scandal we hate,

Only Good we hold great,

Nor any for Title's-sake praise;

Unworthy's that name,

No Merit can claim,

But what Genealogies raise.

In this Anno Dom, we

Wou'd Felicity see,

I'll demonstrate how easy we cou'd: Change fault-finding elves

To mending ourselves,

Then things might soon be as they shou'd

Some Wives read their mates

Curtain-Lectures, debates

And wonder they're not understood;

The Husband's perplex'd,
And the Lady is vex'd."

'Cause every thing's not as it shou'd.

If Pension, or place,

Is the gift of His Grace, zo sila on
Refusal wou'd be over-nice,

Plum-pudding on board,

And press'd by my Lord,

Who wou'd not come in for a slice?

Corruption's the cry,

Opposition runs high,

Yet who can help laughing to see,

Tho' Faction's so big

Ambo Tory and Whig,

In one part both Parties agree.

For the Kingdom of Man,

Division's the plan,

By the laws of the Cyprian Court,

The Ladies must yield,

When our Standard we weild,

.....And what we advance they support.

For a Bumper I call,

Here's the Sou'reign of All,

The Spring from which all honour flows, From thence we a all came,

So we go to that same,

Here's to it, and to it, Here goes.

DICK AND DOLL.

TUNE..

"I'm like a Skiff on the Ocean toss'd."

S one bright summer's sultry day,

AFor sake of shade I sought the grove;

Thro' thickset-hedge, on top of hay, I
I met with mutual Love:

A Youth with one arm round his pretty Girl's waist,
On small swelling breasts he his other hand plac'd,
While she cry'd Dick be still,
Pray tell me what's your will?

"I come (quoth Dick) to have some chat,"
And close to hers, his lips he squeez'd;
"I guess (cries Doll) what you'd be at,

"But now I won't be teaz'd."

She strove to rise up, but his strength held her down, She call'd out for help! and petition'd the Clown, "O Dick, dear, let me rise, "The Sun puts out my eyes.

"I'll tear your soul out!-Lord! these men, 66 If ever- -well-I won't submit.

66

Why? what? the Devil!-Curse me then!"You'll fling me in a fit."

Down, like a bent lily, her head dropp'd aslant,
Her
eyes lost the day-light, her breath became scant,
And, feebly, on her tongue

Expiring accents hung.

The chorus birds sung o'er their heads,
The breeze blew rustling thro' the grove,

Sweet smelt the hay, on new-mown meads,
All seem'd the scene of Love.