Classic Poem

Epilogue

Whoe'er begot thee, has no cause to blush:
Thou'rt a brave chopping boy, [ child cries ] nay, hush! hush! hush!
A workman, faith! a man of rare discretion,
A friend to Britain, and to our profession;
With face so chubby, and with looks so glad,
O rare roast beef of England — here's a lad!

Nay if you once begin to puke and cough,
Go to the nurse. Within! — here take him off
Well, heav'n be prais'd, it is a peopling age,
Thanks to the bar, the pulpit, and the stage;
But not to th' army — that's not worth a farthing,
The captains go too much to Covent Garden,
Spoil many a girl, — but seldom make a mother,
They foil us one way — but we have them t'other.

The nation prospers by such joyous souls,
Hence smokes my table, hence my chariot rolls.
Tho' some snug jobs, from surgery may spring,
Man-midwifry, man-midwifry's the thing!
Lean shou'd I be, e'en as my own anatomy,
By mere catharticks and by plain phlebotomy
Well, besides gain, besides the pow'r to please,
Besides the music of such birds as these,

It is a joy refin'd, unmix'd and pure,
To hear the praises of the grateful poor
This day comes honest Taffy to my house,
" Cot pless her, her as sav'd her poy and spouse,
Her sav'd her Gwinnifrid, or death had swallow'd her,
Tho' creat crand, creat crand crand child of Cadwallader. "
Cries Patrick Touzl'em, " I am bound to pray,
You've sav'd my Sue in your same physick way,
And further shall I thank you yesterday. "
Then Sawney came, and thank'd me for my love,
(I very readily excus'd his glove )
He bless'd the mon, e'en by St. Andrew's cross,
" Who cur'd his bonny bearn and blithsome lass. "
But merriment and mimickry apart,
Thanks to each bounteous hand and gen'rous heart
Of those, who tenderly take pity's part;
Who in good-natur'd acts can sweetly grieve,
Swift to lament, but swifter to relieve
Thanks to the lovely fair ones, types of heaven,
Who raise and beautify the bounty given;
But chief to him in whom distress confides,
Who o'er this noble place so gloriously presides.