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 doubtWe 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 fobb'd, for that day's work, already. I'll ne'er forget th' old maid's alarm, When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he Said, as he dropp'd her shrivell'd arm, “Damn'd 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. Your head-ache is a hemi-cranium :- 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, Not one of us gives more eclat to Th' immortal name of FUDGE than thou. Not to expatiate on the art With which you play'd the patriot's part, Till something good and snug should offer;Like one, who, by the way he acts Th' enlightening part of candle-snuffer, The manager's keen eye attracts, Or wrong or right-but ten times warmer (As suits thy calling) in the formerThy glorious, lawyer-like delight In puzzling all that's clear and right, Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, Improves so with a wig and band on, That all thy pride's to way-lay Truth, And leave her not a leg to stand on. Thy patent, prime, morality, Thy cases, cited from the Bible— Thy candour, when it falls to thee To help in trouncing for a libel ;"God knows, I, from my soul, profess "To hate all bigots and benighters! "God knows, I love, to even excess, "The sacred Freedom of the Press, "My only aim's to-crush the writers." These are the virtues, Tim, that draw And these, oh, TIM-if Law be Law- I blush to see this letter's length, But 'twas my wish to prove to thee How full of hope, and wealth, and strength, Are all our precious family. And, should affairs go on as pleasant As, thank the Fates, they do at present- I hope, ere long, to see the day When England's wisest statesmen, judges, Good bye-my paper's out so nearly, I've only room for Yours sincerely. LETTER VII. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO BEFORE We sketch the Present-let us cast When he, who had defied all Europe's strength, Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length;— When loosed, as if by magic, from a chain That seem'd like Fate's, the world was free again, The cause of Kings, for once, the cause of Right; And hoped the fall of one great vulture's nest |