Nor is old Nanny Shales, whene'er she does brew, sick.
My footman came home from the church of a bruise sick,
And look'd like a rake, who was made in the stews sick;
But you learned doctors can make whom you choose sick:
And poor I myself was, when I withdrew, sick;
For the smell of them made me like garlick and rue sick,
And I got through the crowd, though not led by a clew, sick.
Yet hop'd to find many (for that was your cue) sick;
But there was not a dozen (to give them their due) sick,
And those to be sure, stuck together like glew, sick.
So are ladies in crowds, when they squeeze and they screw, sick;
You may find they are all, by their yellow pale hue, sick;
So am I, when tobacco, like Robin, I chew, sick.
TO DR. SHERIDAN.
IF I write any more, it will make my poor Muse sick.
This night I came home with a very cold dew sick.
And I wish I may soon be not of an ague sick;
But I hope I shall ne'er be like you, of a shrew sick,
Who often has made me, by looking askew, sick.
