The Water Cure.

Old Wisewood smok'd the matter as it was;

66

"Cheer up," cry'd he, " and I'll remove the cause.

A wond'rous spring within my garden flows,
Of sovereign virtue, chiefly to compose
Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife;
The best elixir t' appease man and wife:
Strange are th' effects; the qualities divine;
'Tis water call'd, but worth its weight in wine.
If in his sullen airs Sir John should come,
Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth-then 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'cin try'd,
He'll
a lover; you a happy bride.

grow

But, dearest niece, keep this grand secret close,
Or every prattling hussy'll beg a dose."

A water bottle's brought for her relief;
Not Nantz could sooner ease the lady's 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 thunderer fled!

No hurricane! Betty, 's your lady dead?"

Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes,

Curt'sies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks:

Wondering, he stares, scarcely his eyes believ'd,

But found his ears agreeably deceiv'd.

66

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!

These night cloaths, Moll, become thee mightily!"

With that he sigh'd, her hand began to press,

And Betty calls her lady to undress.

The Water Cure.

For many days these fond endearments past, The reconciling bottle fails at last;

"Twas used and gone. Then midnight storms arose,

And looks and words the union discompose.
Her coach is order'd, and post haste she flies,
To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies;
Transported does the strange effects relate,
Her knight's conversion, and her happy state.

"Why niece," says he, "I pr'ythee apprehend, The water's water-be thyself the friend. Such beauty would the coldest husband warm; But your provoking tongue undoes the charm: Be silent, and complying; you'll soon find, Sir John without a med'cine will be kind."

WO thirsty souls met on a sultry day,

One Glazier Dick, the other Tom the Tinker;

Both with light purses, but with spirits gay;

And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker.

Their ale they quaff'd ;

And, as they swigg'd the nappy,

They both agreed, 'tis said,

That trade was wond'rous dead.

They jok'd, sung, laugh'd,

And were completely happy.

The Tinker and Glazier.

The Landlord's eye, bright as his sparkling ale,
Glisten'd to see them the brown pitcher hug;
For ev'ry jest, and song, and merry tale,

Had this blithe ending-" Bring us t'other mug."

Now Dick the Glazier feels his bosom burn,
To do his friend, Tom Tinker, a good turn;
And, where the heart to friendship feels inclin'd,
Occasion seldom loiters long behind.

The kettle, gaily singing on the fire,

Gives Dick a hint, just to his heart's desire:
And, while to draw more ale the Landlord goes,
Dick, in the ashes, all the water throws;
Then puts the kettle on the fire again,

And at the Tinker winks,

As" Trade's success!" he drinks,

Nor doubts the wish'd success Tom will obtain.
Our Landlord ne'er could such a toast withstand;
So, giving each kind customer a hand,

His friendship, too, display'd,

And drank-" Success to trade !”

But, O how pleasure vanish'd from his eye,
How long and rueful his round visage grew,

Soon as he saw the kettle's bottom fly,

Solder the only fluid he could view !

He rav'd, he caper'd, and he swore,

And cursed the kettle's body o'er and o'er,

"Come! come!" says Dick, "fetch us, my friend, more ale; All trades, you know, must live:

Let's drink- May trade with none of us, e'er fail!'
The job to Tom, then, give;

And, for the ale he drinks, our lad of mettle,

Take my word for it, soon will mend your kettle."

The Landlord yields; but hopes 'tis no offence,
To curse the trade, that thrives at his expence.

The Tinker and Glazier.

Tom undertakes the job; to work he goes;
And just concludes it, with the ev'ning's close.
Souls so congenial had friends Tom and Dick,

Each might be fairly call'd a loving brother; Thought Tom, to serve my friend I know a trick, And one good turn in truth deserves another! Out now he slily slips,

But not a word he said.

The plot was in his head,

And off he nimbly trips.

Swift to the neighb'ring church his way he takes; Nor in the dark,

Misses his mark,

But ev'ry pane of glass he quickly breaks.
Back as he goes,

His bosom glows,

To think how great will be his friend Dick's joy,
At getting so much excellent employ.
Return'd, he beckoning, draws his friend aside,
Importance in his face,

And to Dick's ear his mouth applied,

Thus briefly states the case.

"Dick! I may give you joy, you're a made man ; I've done your business most complete, my friend: I'm off!-the devil may catch me, if he can,

Each window of the church you've got to mend; Ingratitude's worst curse my head befall, If, for your sake, I have not broke them all!"

Tom with surprize, sees Dick turn pale,
Who deeply sighs-" O, la!"

Then drops his under jaw,

And all his pow'rs of utt'rance fail :

While horror in his ghastly face,

And bursting eye-balls, Tom can trace;

Whose sympathetic muscles, just and true,