That Hercules slew,
Were Poverty—Calumny—Trouble—and Fear:
Such a club would you borrow,
To drive away sorrow,
Apply for a jorum of Newcastle beer.
Ye youngsters, so diffident, languid, and pale,
Whom love, like the cholic, so rudely infests;
Take a cordial of this, ’twill probatum prevail,
And drive the cur Cupid away from your breasts:
Dull whining despise,