Tho’ Bath cur’d the scab in prince Lud and his pigs.
Since the days of old Adam,
Or Eve, lovely madam,
No well was e’er found fit for drinking till now:
As the liquid ye glut,
’Tis as sweet as a nut,
While Bath’s an emetic for boar, pig, or sow.
Oh Chester, &c.
The maiden who flies to her pillow in sorrow,
Who wakes with a sigh to the music of day;