Here behold the reign of Plenty,—
Help the Carrots, hand the Kail;
Roots how nice, and herbs how dainty,
Well washed down with ADAM'S Ale!
Feed your fill,—untasted only
Let the fragrant onion go;
Or, amid the revels lonely,
Go not nigh the mistletoe!
KINDRED QUACKS. PUNCH.
I overheard two matrons grave, allied by close affinity
(The name of one was PHYSIC, and the other's was DIVINITY),
As they put their groans together, both so doleful and lugubrious:
Says PHYSIC, "To unload the heart of grief, ma'am, is salubrious:
Here am I, at my time of life, in this year of our deliverance;
My age gives me a right to look for some esteem and reverence.
But, ma'am, I feel it is too true what every body says to me,—
Too many of my children are a shame and a disgrace to me."
"Ah!" says DIVINITY, "my heart can suffer with another, ma'am;
I'm sure I can well understand your feelings as a mother, ma'am.
I've some, as well,—no doubt but what you're perfectly aware on't,
ma'am,
Whose doings bring derision and discredit on their parent, ma'am."
"There are boys of mine," says PHYSIC, "ma'am, such silly fancies nourishing, As curing gout and stomach-ache by pawing and by flourishing."
"Well," says DIVINITY, "I've those that teach that Heaven's beatitudes
Are to be earned by postures, genuflexions, bows, and attitudes."
"My good-for-nothing sons," says PHYSIC, "some have turned hydropathists, Some taken up with mesmerism, or joined the homoeopathists."
"Mine," says DIVINITY, "pursue a system of gimcrackery,
Called Puseyism, a pack of stuff, and quite as arrant quackery."