J. Bramston to Captain Hinton

Hinton, old friend, accept from me The following rules without a fee: An asthma is your case I think, So you must neither eat nor drink; I mean, of meats preserv'd in salt, Nor any liquor made of malt; From season'd sauce avert your eyes, From hams, and tongues, and pigeon-pies; If venison-pasty's set before you, Each bit you eat—memento mori.

Your suppers, nothing, if you please, But, above all, no toasted cheese. And now, perhaps, you may observe, What I prescribe will make you starve: No—I allow you at a meal A leg, a loin, or neck of veal; Young turkies—I allow you four, Partridge and pullets half a score; Of house-lamb boil'd eat quarters two; The devil's in't if this wont do.—

Now, as to liquor—why indeed, What I prescribe, I send you—Mead; Glasses of wine (t'extinguish drought) Take three with water, three without. Let constant exercise be tried, And sometimes walk, and sometimes ride; Health oftner comes from Blackdownhill, Than from th' apothecary's bill. Some, if they are not cur'd at once, Proclaim their doctor for a dunce: Restless from quack to quack they range, When 'tis themselves they ought to change. Rules and restraints you must endure, What comes by time, 'tis time must cure. The use of vegetables try, And prize Pomona in a pie: Young Bacchus' rites you must avoid, And Venus must go unenjoy'd: Whate'er you take, put something good in, And worship Ceres in a pudding.

For breakfast, it is my advice, Eat sago, gruel, barley, rice; Take burdock roots, and, by my troth, I'd mingle daizes in my broth.

Thus may you draw with ease your breath, Deluding, what you dread not, death; Thus may you laugh, look clear, and thrive, Enrich'd by those whom you survive. May dying friends, with one accord, Worth and Sincerity reward.