Whig_ (_looking flattered_).--
Why, to tell you the truth, I've a small matter here,
Which you helped me to make for my patient last year,--
[_Goes to a cupboard and brings out a strait-waistcoat
and gag_.]
And such rest I've enjoyed from his raving since then
That I've made up my mind he shall wear it again.
_Dr. Tory_ (_embracing him_).--
Oh, charming!---My dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure,
Next to torturing, _myself_, to help _you_ is a pleasure.
[_Assisting Dr. Whig_.]
Give me leave--I've some practice in these mad machines;
There--tighter--the gag in the mouth, by all means.
Delightful!--all's snug--not a squeak need you fear,--
You may now put your anodynes off till next year.
[_Scene closes_.]
[1] These verses, as well as some others that follow, were extorted from
me by that lamentable measure of the Whig ministry, the Irish Coercion
Act.
[2] This eminent artist, in the second edition of the work wherein he
propounds this mode of purifying his eels, professes himself much
concerned at the charge of inhumanity brought against his practice, but
still begs leave respectfully to repeat that it _is_ the only proper
mode of preparing eels for the table.
TO THE REV. CHARLES OVERTON,
CURATE OF ROMALDKIRK.
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