| ON DR. ****, |
| A MERE PRETENDER TO MEDICAL SCIENCE, OFFICIOUSLY OFFERING ME HIS SERVICES. |
| 'Should you e'er be unwell, send directly for me; To cure you I'll haste with all possible speed, Prescribe and find medicine without any fee.'— Oh! Doctor! your offer's most generous indeed; I'd accept—but for something—the vast obligation. 'But for what, pray?'—The instinct of self-preservation. |
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| If, as Swift says, in the most delicate mind Nastiest ideas we are sure to find, Then—equal to his humour and his wit Swift's delicacy we must all admit. |
| ON HEARING A PARSON READ VERY BADLY A SERMON HE HAD BOUGHT. |
| That sermon, reverend Sir, which you have bought, To save your idle brain the toil of thought, You read in such a dull, lethargic tone, It seems almost as stupid as your own. |
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| Pursefull's a stickler for the law's abuse:— To him, 'tis clear, it was of sterling use. |
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| Pursefull still advocates the law's abuse.— What moralist can gratitude condemn? They, formerly, have done so much for him; Ought he not, now, to do his best for them? |
| TO MR. BURY, AN EMINENT SURGEON IN COVENTRY, |
| ON HIS HAVING PERFORMED A SUCCESSFUL OPERATION, IN A CASE OF DEEPLY-SEATED INFLAMMATION IN THE NECK, WHEN THE PATIENT WAS IN EXTREME DANGER OF IMMEDIATE SUFFOCATION. |
| Bury, for practice bold and skill Deserves to be of note; He cures by means that well might kill,— He cuts his patient's throat! |
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| When Satan tempts a priest to rise, 'It is the call of heaven!' he cries, And mount's ambition's ladder:— To heaven's own call that bids him be, Like Christ, full of humility, He's deafer than an adder. |
| AFTER HAVING SEEN SEVERAL BAD PAINTINGS OF THE DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE. |
| Cease, daubers! profane not the theme, I implore ye! But leave him, O leave him alone with his glory! |
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| Man's owl-eyed reason—Popish Priests assert— Can't safely bear the gospel's heavenly light; Therefore, with kindest zeal, they do their best To keep their flocks in unillumined night. |
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| 'The brokers of the Stock-Exchange Are nicknamed bears and bulls;—how strange! What reason, Sir, to call them so?' Ma'am, see their manners, you will know. |