“A wonderous spring within my garden flows,
    Of sovereign virtue, chiefly to compose
    Domestic jars, and matrimonial strife,
    The best elixir t’ appease man and wife;
    Strange are th’ effects, the qualities divine,
    ’Tis water called, but worth its weight in wine. 
    If in his sullen airs Sir John should come,
    Three spoonfuls take, hold in your mouth—­then mum: 
    Smile, and look pleased, when he shall rage and scold,
    Still in your mouth the healing cordial hold;
    One month this sympathetic medecine tried,
    He’ll grow a lover, you a happy bride. 
    But, dearest niece, keep this grand secret close,
    Or every prattling hussy’ll beg a dose.”

    A water-bottle’s brought for her relief,
    Not Nantz could sooner ease the lady’s grief: 
    Her busy thoughts are on the trial bent,
    And female-like, impatient for th’ event: 

    The bonny knight reels home exceeding clear,
    Prepared for clamour, and domestic war. 
    Entering, he cries, “Hey! where’s our thunder fled? 
    No hurricane!  Betty, ’s your lady dead?”
    Madam, aside, an ample mouthful takes,
    Curtsies, looks kind, but not a word she speaks: 
    Wondering, he stared, scarcely his eyes believed,
    But found his ears agreeably deceived. 
    “Why, how now, Molly, what’s the crotchet now?”
    She smiles, and answers only with a bow. 
    Then clasping her about,—­“Why, let me die! 
    These nightclothes, Moll, become thee mightily!”
    With that, he sighed, her hand began to press,
    And Betty calls, her lady to undress;
    “Nay, kiss me, Molly, for I’m much inclined.” 
    Her lace she cuts, to take him in the mind. 
    Thus the fond pair to bed enamoured went,
    The lady pleased, and the good knight content.

    For many days these fond endearments passed,
    The reconciling bottle fails at last;
    ’Twas used and gone:  Then midnight storms arose,
    And looks and words the union discompose. 
    Her coach is ordered, and post-haste she flies,
    To beg her uncle for some fresh supplies;
    Transported does the strange effects relate,
    Her knight’s conversion, and her happy state!

    “Why, niece,” says he, “I prithee apprehend
    The water’s water.  Be thyself thy friend;
    Such beauty would the coldest husband warm,
    But your provoking tongue undoes the charm: 
    Be silent, and complying; you’ll soon find,
    Sir John, without a medecine, will be kind.”

St. James’s Coffee-house, April 13.