Epigram On Dr. ****, A Mere Pretender To Medical Science, Officiously Offering Me His Services

'Should you e'er be unwell, send directly for me; To cure you I'll haste with all possible speed, Prescribe and find medicine without any fee.'— Oh! Doctor! your offer's most generous indeed; I'd accept—but for something—the vast obligation. 'But for what, pray?'—The instinct of self-preservation. *        *        *        *        * If, as Swift says, in the most delicate mind Nastiest ideas we are sure to find, Then—equal to his humour and his wit Swift's delicacy we must all admit.