Judgements are about us thoroughly;
O'er all Enfield hangs the Cholera,
Savage monster, none like him
Ever rack'd a human limb.
Pest, nor plague, nor fever yellow,
Has made patients more to bellow.

Vain his threatnings! Asbury comes,
And defiance beats by drums;
Label, bottle, box, pill, potion,
Each enlists in the commotion.

And with Vials, like to those
Seen in Patmos, charged with woes,
Breathing Wrath, he falls pell-mell
Upon the Foe, and pays him well.
Revenge! — he has made the monster sick,
Yea, Cholera vanish, choleric.