I doubt not you could find us, too,
Some Orange Parsons that might do:
Among the rest, we've heard of one,
The Reverend--something--HAMILTON,
Who stuft a figure of himself
(Delicious thought!) and had it shot at,
To bring some Papists to the shelf,
That couldn't otherwise be got at--
If _he_'ll but join the Association,
We'll vote him in by acclamation.
And now, my brother, guide and friend,
This somewhat tedious scrawl must end.
I've gone into this long detail,
Because I saw your nerves were shaken
With anxious fears lest I should fail
In this new, _loyal_, course I've taken.
But, bless your heart! you need not doubt--
We FUDGES know what we're about.
Look round and say if you can see
A much more thriving family.
There's JACK, the Doctor--night and day
Hundreds of patients so besiege him,
You'd swear that all the rich and gay
Fell sick on purpose to oblige him.
And while they think, the precious ninnies,
He's counting o'er their pulse so steady,
The rogue but counts how many guineas
He's fobbed for that day's work already.
I'll ne'er forget the old maid's alarm,
When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he
Said, as he dropt her shrivelled arm,
"Damned bad this morning--only thirty!"
Your dowagers, too, every one,
So generous are, when they call _him_ in,
That he might now retire upon
The rheumatisms of three old women.
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