ottom of a well.

[Illustration]

DICK ended:--TOM and WILL approve'd his strains;
And thought his Legend made as good a figure
As naturalizing a dull German's brains,
Which beget issues in the Heliconian stews,
Upon a profligate _Tenth_ Muse,
In all the gloomy _impotence of vigour_.[1]

"'Twas now the very witching time of night,
When _Prosers_ yawn."--Discussion grew diffuse:
Argument's _carte and tierce_ were lost, outright:
And they fought loose.

Says WILL, quite carelessly,--"the other day,
As I was lying on my back,
In bed,
I took a fancy in my head;--
Some writings aren't so difficult as people say;--
They are _a knack_."

"What writings? whose?" says TOM--raking the cinders.
"Many," cried WILL:--"For instance,--PETER PINDAR'S."
"What! call you his a knack?"--"Yes;--mind his measure,
In _that_ lies half the _point_ that gives us pleasure."
"Pooh!--'tisn't that," DICK cried--
"_That_ has been tried,
Over and over:--Bless your souls!
'Tis seen in _Crazy Tales_, and twenty things beside:
His measure is as old as Poles."

"Granted," cries WILL: "I know I'm speaking treason:
For PETER,
With many a joke, and queer conceit, doth season
His metre:

"And this I'll say of PETER, to his face,
As 'twas, time past, of Vanbrugh writ--
PETER has often wanted _grace_,
But he has never wanted _wit_.

"Yet I will tell you a plain tale,
And see how far quaint measure will prevail:"

[Illustration]

THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.

A MAN, in many a country town, we know,
Professes openly with death to wrestle;
Ent'ring the field against the grimly foe,
Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle.

Yet, some affirm, no enemies they are;
But meet just like prize-fighters, in a Fair,
Who first shake hands before they box,
Then give each other plaguy knocks,
With all the love and kindness of a brother:
So (many a suff'ring Patient saith)
Tho' the Apothecary fights with Death,
Still they're sworn friends to one another.

A member of this AEsculapian line,
Lived at Newcastle upon Tyne:
No man could better gild a pill:
Or make a bill;
Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister;
Or draw a tooth out of your head;
Or chatter scandal by your bed;
Or give a clyster.

Of occupations these were _quantum suff._:
Yet, still, he thoug