‘The man is harmless, be not you afraid;
A poor young creature, who, they say, is cross’d
In love, and has in part his senses lost—
His health for certain, and he comes to spend
His time with us; we hope our air will mend
A frame so weaken’d, for the learned tribe
A change of air for stubborn ills prescribe;
And doing nothing often has prevail’d
When ten physicians have prescribed and fail’d; 40
Not that for air or change there’s much to say,