10 THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. Which, one would think, was clear enough, "When taken, "To be well shaken.*? Next morning early, Bolus rose, Who a vile trick of stumbling had: For what's expected from a horse, Bolus arrived; and gave a doubtful tap; Knocks of this kind Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance; Out of their fingers. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, John's countenance as rueful look'd, and grim, 'Well how's the patient? Bolus saidJohn shook his head. 'Indeed!-hum! ha!-that's very odd! He took the draught?'-John gave a nod. Well--how?-what then?-speak out you dunce!" Why then' says John-' we shook him once.' WHIMSICAL MAL-ENTENDU. "Shook him!-how?'-Bolus stammer'd out:We jolted him about.' 11 Zounds! shake a patient, man! a shake won't do!' 'No sir, and so we gave him two.' Two shakes! od's curse! "Twould make the patient worse.' It did so sir?-and so a third we tried.' Well and what then?'-' then, sir, my master died.' THE WHIMSICAL MAL-ENTENDU. AN EPIGRAM. A POOR simple foreigner, not long ago, "Why pickles,' says she is a sort of a name, Like preserves, and the meaning is nearly the same; For pickling preserves, though not quite the same way, Yet 'tis much the same thing, as a body may say.' The foreigner bow'd and gave thanks for his lesson; Which the next day, at dinner, he made a fine mess 'on; For a loud clap of thunder caus'd Miss Kitty Ner vous, To start from her chair, and cry Mercy preserve us! While he, keeping closely his lesson in view, A MEDICINE FOR THE LADIES. MISS Molly, a fam'd toast, was fair and young, Had wealth and charms-but then she had a tongue From morn to night, th' eternal larum rung, Which often lost those hearts her eyes had won. Sir John was smitten, and confess'd his flame, Sigh'd out the usual time, then wed the dame; Possessed he thought, of ev'ry joy of life; But his dear Molly prov'd a very wife. Excess of fondness did in time decline; Madam lov'd money, and the knight lov'd wine: From whence some petty discords would arise, As, 'You're a fool!'-and, 'You are mighty wise!' Tho' he and all the world allow'd her wit; Her voice was shrill, and rather loud than sweet; When she began-for hat and sword he'd call ; Then, after a faint kiss, cry, 'B'y, dear Moll: Supper and friends expect me at the Rosc.' And what, Sir John, you'll get your usual dose? Go, stink of smoke, and guzzle nasty wine; 'Sure, never virtuous love was us'd like mine!' Oft', as the watchful bellman march'd his round, At a fresh bottle gay Sir John he found; By four the knight would get his business done, And only then reel'd off because alone. Full well he knew the dreadful storm to come; But, arm'd with Bordeaux, he durst venture home. My lady with her tongue was still prepar'd; She rattled loud, and he impatient heard: ''Tis a fine hour! In a sweet pickle made! And this, Sir John, is every day the trade. 'Here I sit moping all the live-long night, 'Devour'd by spleen, and stranger to delight; 'Till morn sends staggering home a drunken beast 'Resolv'd to break my heart as well as rest.' A MEDICINE FOR THE LADIES. 13 Hey! hoop! d'ye hear, my damn'd obstrep'rous spouse! 'What can't you find one bed about the house? 'Will that perpetual clack lie never still? " That rival to the softness of a mill! 'Some couch and distant room must be my choice, "Where I may sleep uncurs'd with wife and noise.' Long this uncomfortable life they led, With snarling meals, and each a seperate bed. Beg his advice, and scarce from tears refrain. 'Three spoonfulls take, hold in your mouth-ther 6 mum : Smile and look pleas'd, when he shall rage and scold, Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold; One month this sympathetic med'cine try'd, 'He'll grow a lover, you a happy bride : 'But dearest niece, keep this grand secret close, Or ev'ry prattling hussey 'Il beg a dose.' A water-bottle 's brought for her relief; Not Nantz could sooner ease the ladies grief: Her busy thoughts are on the trial bent, And, female-like, impatient for th' event. The bonny knight reels home, exceeding clear, Prepar'd for clamour, and domestic war. Entering, he cries-Hey where's our thunder fled C. 14 BATTLE OF THE KEGS. No Hurricane? Betty's your lady dead?' Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes, Curt'sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks. Wond'ring he star'd, scarcely his eyes believ'd, But found his ears agreeably deceiv'd. 6 Why, how now Molly, what's the crotchet now? She smiles, and answers only with a bow. Then clasping her about-- Why let me die! For many days these fond endearments pass'd, "Twas us'd and gone--then midnight storms arose, BATTLE OF THE KEGS (F. HOPKINSON) GALLANTS, attend. and hear a friend, Strange things I'll tell, which late befel |