Oh!
Mr.
Best, you're very
And all the world shall know it;
Your base behaviour shall be
By me, a tunefull Poet.— You used to go to
Each summer as it came,
And why I pray should you
To go this year the same?— The way's as plain, the road's as smooth,
The Posting not increased;
You're scarcely stouter than you were,
Not younger Sir at least.— If e'er the waters were of
Why now their use forego?
You may not live another year,
All's mortal here below.— It is your duty Mr
To give your health repair.
Vain else your Richard's pills will be,
And vain your Consort's care.
But yet a nobler Duty
You now towards the North.
Arise ennobled—as
Of Martha Lloyd stand forth.
She wants your aid—she honours
With a distinguished call.
Stand forth to be the friend of
Who is the friend of all.— Take her, and wonder at your luck,
In having such a Trust.
Her converse sensible and
Will banish heat and dust.— So short she'll make the journey
You'll bid the Chaise stand still.
T'will be like driving at full
From Newb'ry to Speen hill.— Convey her safe to Morton's
And I'll forget the past,
And write some verses in your
As finely and as fast.
But if you still refuse to goI'll never let your rest,
Buy haunt you with reproachful
Oh! wicked Mr.
Best!—
