To Mr ROBERT WHITEHALL at the Wells at Astrop.  
PRorogued term prolongs our meeting,  
Accept then Robin this for greeting,  
As much as if in Belgic Roomer,  
We drank all Astrop this hot Summer,  
W' have cured the Scurvy, yes and a-Toe,  
By sending Ano-waters 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
I have seven Doctors, not in Rockets  
That ply the Waters, but in pockets,  
But that so many Dunnes and Leeches  
Have drained quite my Physic breeches,  
Ab ipso fonte, not, that's cooler,  
But in Bottles Trio-bolar  
We daily tope, rare cure Splenetic,  
By Diaphor and Dieuretick.  
Under my Room, that's high you'll say,  
Are men of Via lactea,  
Which every morning come to clear-um  
With whey, which some call Lactis serum.  
I am a water-Ratt, my skill is  
To follow thee and Doctor Willis:  
For if these prove not good as Spa,  
Or Tunbridge, than I must have Law,  
When our Vicechancellor we speedily greet,  
For these I write are my best feet:  
And so have at thee, I am bousing  
In bottles six that's half a dozen,  
Which makes us frisk like any Satyrs,  
But not with wood Nymphs, no such matters;  
Keep with thy Gallants and their Paddyes,  
For we want nothing, not your Ladies:  
And now as any thing of Fame,  
So Astrop waters change their name;  
Their Cures into their Titles go,  
As Rivulets to the seas flow;  
Wherefore whatsoever your dosing cup  
Seems to pour out at Asterop.  
It ends in sovereign; under seal  
Declared the Pan-obstruction-Heale  
Like to a Prince in triumph seen,  
O'er Scurvy, Stone, Astmas, and Spleen:  
Therefore let none my friends defeat you  
Potate strenuè, & Valete.  
E. G.