A mountebank amidst a crowd
Thus cried aloud—
"Walk up, Messieurs and try the cure
For every evil men endure!
It is a powder which will give
All things for which you strive and live.
To fools it gives intelligence;
And to the guilty innocence.
Honors on rascals it bestows,
And to old women brings young beaux;
Secures old men young, pretty wives;
Makes madmen lead well-temper'd lives—
In short, whatever you would gain,
It will assist you to attain
It is a perfect panacea."
The juggler's table I drew near,
This wond'rous powder to behold
Of which such miracles were told.
It was a little powder'd gold!
