Then whatsoe'er your ailments are,
He can so learnedly explain ye'em--
Your cold of course is a _catarrh_,
Your headache is a _hemi-cranium_:--
His skill too in young ladies' lungs,
The grace with which, most mild of men,
He begs them to put out their tongues.
Then bids them--put them in again;
In short, there's nothing now like JACK!--
Take all your doctors great and small,
Of present times and ages back,
Dear Doctor FUDGE is worth them all.
So much for physic--then, in law too,
Counsellor TIM, to thee we bow;
Not one of us gives more eclat to
The immortal name of FUDGE than thou.
Not to expatiate on the art
With which you played the patriot's part,
Till something good and snug should offer;--
Like one, who, by the way he acts
The _enlightening_ part of candle-snuffer,
The manager's keen eye attracts,
And is promoted thence by him
To strut in robes, like thee, my TIM!--
_Who_ shall describe thy powers of face,
Thy well-fed zeal in every case,
Or wrong or right--but ten times warmer
(As suits thy calling) in the former--
Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight
In puzzling all that's clear and right,
Which, tho' conspicuous in thy youth,
Improves so with a wig and band on,
That all thy pride's to waylay Truth,
And leave her not a leg to stand on.
Pages:
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368