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,