Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/499

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A DRAUGHT TO CURE.
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      Pluit tantum,      Nescio quantum,      Scisne tu?  That it rains hard I am aware,  How much it rains I cannot swear,    Pray, sir, can you?
The crazed man turned, and flung a huge stone, dashingThrough window-panes, producing direful crashing;  And further, gave his tit for tat, in  The following doggrel Latin:      Fregi tot,      Nescio quot      Scisne tu?  A heap of things are gone to pot,  How many truly I know not,    Pray, sir, do you?
A Draught to Cure.
   Jack Dash, in town a first-rate beau,   Some time ago,For near a month had never ventured out:'Twas wise, for Jack was poor, and what bespoke itWas, that he had no money in his pocket;And, therefore, was not quite prepared to meetA friend of his, who slyly in the street  To tap him on the shoulder lurked about.   A doctor's wife hard by,   Who much delighted in his company   (For Jack to please the ladies had the skill),   Began to think him ill;So sent her servant Thomas to assure him,If he by any illness was assailed,And would but freely tell from what he ailed,She'd get some draughts that very soon should cure him.
This message hearing, thus replied young Dash:"Friend Tom, then tell your mistress I will thank her,As my disorder's only want of cash,To let the drafts be—on her husband's banker!"

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