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DEATH S DOINGS.

For ale and beer drinkers there's nothing so proper asYour extracts of coculus, quassia, and copperas—Call'd ale, from the hundreds that ail with them

here,And beer, from the numbers they bring to their bier !*

In vain shall they think to find refuge in tea—That decoction's peculiarly favoured by me ;Sloe-leaves make the tea—verdigris gives the

bloom—And the slow poison's sure to conduct to the tomb.As for coffee, Fred. Accum well knows the word

meansNaught but sand, powder, gravel, and burnt peasand beans.

But let us suppose that they drink only water—I think there may still be found methods to slaughterA few of the blockheads who think they can bam meBy swallowing that tasteless liqueur. —Well, then,d—me

* Both these puns have been consecrated by Bishop An-drews, in his ex-ale-tatinn of ale. This poem has also been as-cribed to Beaumont.