To GRAMMATICUS. Mary Leapor Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 122-125. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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To GRAMMATICUS . SIR , MIRA wou'd with Tears atone For all the Mischief she has done ; Sincerely mourns ( believe it true ) The sending of her Rhymes to you . The Wound my Verses gave your Ear , Was undesign'd it will appear ; Nor in the least the Fault of me , As by this Sorrow you may see . And cou'd I in our Meadows find , Among the vegetable Kind , A healing Simple , that wou'd cure Those smarting Pangs which you endure : Whose Juice the Matrons well esteem For Cuts and Bruises that are green , I'd send it with an Heart most willing , Tho' it shou'd cost me half a Shilling : Yet I can serve you but in Will , For I've consulted Doctor Pill , Who tells me that a Case like yours Will not admit of common Cures ; For that Incisions made by Rhymes Are worse than Ulcers fifty times : He gives a Reason that is clear , Because they always strike the Ear , And give un-utterable Pain To the small Fibres of the Brain : Yet as the Doctor is my Friend , His Worship order'd me to send This grand Receipt which he has known , To serve in Cases like your own : Tis true , the Drug is something rare , And yet I wou'd not quite despair ; But hope the Med'cine may be found Within the Space of British Ground : This Balsam then I'd have you seek , No matter for its Name in Greek ; But sure 'tis call'd ( or I am wrong ) Good-nature in the English Tongue : The Doctor swears by all his Skill , If this don't ease you , nothing will ; To either Ear be this apply'd , ( The better if 'tis quickly try'd ) Then fill the hollow Spaces full With Aqua-vitoe drop'd on Wool : And take a special Care be sure , No Poets come about your Door : For you might keep the Bench of Law , Or hear the squeaking of a Saw , More safely by a hundred times , Than half a Page of modern Rhymes : But when you gather Strength a little , Can walk abroad and eat your Vittle ? As you are mighty fond of Verse , Let some with gentle Voice rehearse : How Corn grows now where Troy Town stood , Or else the Children in the Wood : These gentle Numbers will compose Your Spirits and your Eye-lids close ! Those Slumbers will complete the Cure ; Now , Sir , your Servant , and — no more .