.
"Indeed!--hum! ha!--that's very odd!
He took the draught?"--John gave a nod.
"Well,--how?--what then?--speak out, you dunce!"
"Why then"--says John--"we _shook_ him once."
"Shook him!--how?"--Bolus stammer'd out:
"We jolted him about."
"Zounds! Shake a Patient, man!--a shake won't do."
"No, Sir,--and so we gave him _two_."
"Two shakes! od's curse!
'Twould make the Patient worse."
"It did so, Sir!--and so a third we tried."
"Well, and what then?"--"then, Sir, my master died."

[Illustration]

Ere WILL had done 'twas waxing wond'rous late;
And reeling Bucks the streets began to scour;
While guardian Watchmen, with a tottering gait,
Cried every thing, quite clear, except the hour.

"Another pot," says TOM, "and then,
A Song;--and so good night, good Gentlemen!

"I've Lyricks, such as _Bons Vivants_ indite,
In which your bibbers of Champagne delight,--
The Poetaster, bawling them in clubs,
Obtains a miserably noted name;
And every noisy Bacchanalian dubs
The Singing-Writer with a bastard Fame."

[Illustration]

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen "_Lodgings to Let_" stare him full in the face:
Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

WILL WADDLE, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hire'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But WILL was so fat he appear'd like a ton;--
Or like Two Single Gentlemen roll'd into One.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fever'd, and heated;
And, tho' heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same!--and the next;--and the next;
He perspire'd like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd;
Week past after week; till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt him:
For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him.
He sent for a Doctor; and cried, like a ninny,
"I have lost many pounds--make me well--there's a guinea."

The Doctor look'd wise:--"a slow fever," he said:
Prescribe'd sudorificks,--and going to bed.
"Sudorificks in bed," exclaim'd WILL, "are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

WILL kick'd o