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Eternal Excellence ! 'tis only thee,
great ORIGINAL of all that's Fair,
Τ Η Ε
Τ Η Ε.
M E D I C I N E.
For the LADIES.
ISS Molly, a fam'd TOAST, was Fair and
had a Tongue !
Sir John was smitten, and confefs'd his Flame, Sigh’d at the usual time, then wed the DAME.
Possessid, he thought, of ev'ry Joy of Life,
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 Rose, And, what, Sir John, you'll get your usual Dore! Go, stink of Smoak, and guzzle nasty Wine, Sure, never virtuous Love was us'd like mine!
Oft as the watchful Bell-Man march'd his Round,
My Lady with her Tongue was still prepard,
Here I sit moping all the live-long Night,
find one Bed about the House?
Long this uncomfortable L 1 E E they led, With snarling Meals, and each a sepirate Bed. To an old Uncle oft she would complain, Beg his Advice, and scarce from Tears refrain: Old Wifewood fmoak'd the Matter as it was, Cheer up, cry'd he, and I'll remove the Cause. A wond'rous Spring within my Garden flows, of sov'reign Virtue, chiefly to compose Domestick Jarrs, and Matrimonial Strife, The best ELIXIR t appease Man and Wife; Strange are th' Effects, and Qualities Divine, *Tis Water called, but worth its Weight in Wine. If in his fullen Airs Sir John should come, Three spoonfuls take, hold in your Mouth then Mum: Smile and look pleas'd, when he shall rage and fcold, Still in your Mouth the healing Cordial hold;
One Month this Sympathetick Med'cine try'd,
A Water Bottle's brought for her Relief,
The bonny Knight reels home exceeding clear, Prepar'd for Clamour, and Domestick War.. Entring, he cry's,
Hey! where's our Thunder fied? No Hurricane! Betty's your Lady dead? Madam, aside, an ample Mouthful takes, Court'sy's, looks kind, but not a Word she speaks: Wond'ring, he star'd, scarcely his Eyes believd, But found his Ears agreeably deceiv'd.. Why, how now, Molly; What's the Crotchet now? She smiles, and anfwers only with a Bow. Then clasping her about Why, let me die! These Night-Cloaths, Moll, become thee mightily! With that he figh'd, her Hand began to press, And Betty calls, her Lady to undress. Nay, ki's me, Molly, for l'ın much inclin'd : Her Lace she cuts to take him in the Mind. Thus the fond Pair to Bed enamour'd went, The Lady pleas'd, and the good Knight content.