That his prescriptions he resolve’d to write in’t.

No opportunity he e’er let pass

Of writing the directions, on his labels,

In dapper couplets,—like Gay’s Fables;

Or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras.

Apothecary’s verse!—and where’s the treason?

’Tis simply honest dealing:—not a crime;—

When patients swallow physick without reason,

It is but fair to give a little rhyme.

He had a Patient lying at death’s door,