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AN EPISTLE TO TWO FRIENDS[1].
TO DR. HELSHAM[2].
WHEN I left you, I found myself of the grape's juice sick;
I'm so full of pity, I never abuse sick;
And the patientest patient ever you knew sick:
Both when I am purge-sick, and when I am spew-sick.
I pitied my cat, whom I knew by her mew sick:
She mended at first, but now she's anew sick.
Captain Butler made some in the church black and blue sick.
Dean Cross, had he preach'd, would have made us all pew-sick.
Are not you, in a crowd when you sweat and you stew, sick?
Lady Santry got out of the church when she grew sick,
And, as fast as she could, to the deanery flew sick.
Miss Morice was (I can you assure 'tis true) sick:
For, who would not be in that numerous crew sick?
Such musick would make a fanatick or Jew sick,
Yet, ladies are seldom at ombre or loo sick.
- ↑ This medley (for it cannot be called a poem) is given as a specimen of those bagatelles for which the dean hath perhaps been too severely censured.
- ↑ Richard Helsham, M. D. professor of physick and natural philosophy in the university of Dublin. See the Preface to Delany on Polygamy.
