Christopher Anstey

(1724-1805 / England)

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An Election Ball,

--And so, as I told thee before, my dear wife,
I'll go to the ball tho' it cost me my life--
--Must I be shut up, till, like poor neighbour Snarler,
I be smok'd like a joss in mine own little parlour?
No--I'd have thee to know I can walk pretty stout,
Since I've found an infallible cure for the gout,
For the doctor I've tried has, with wedges and pegs,
So stretch'd out my sinews, and hammer'd my legs,
So suppled the joint, by tormenting the tendon,

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