George A. Aitken

Capitolo 40

    The best t of elixir appeases man and wife;
    Strange it is th' the effects, the qualities foretell,
    'The water of Tis called, but value its weight in wine.
    If in his/her aspects Mr. surly John had to come,
    Three spoonfuls take, holds in Your mouth--then his/her mother:
    Smiles, and you seem pleased, when he will get mad and it will scold,
    Still in Your mouth the cordial taking and to greet;
    One month that these comprehensive medecines have tried,
    He will grow a person in love, You a happy bride.
    But, favorite nephew, holds this great secret closing,
    Or every hussy that chirrups they will implore a dose."

    A water-bottle has brought for its relief,
    Not Nantz could assuage sooner the pain of the lady:
    Its busy thoughts are on the beta tendency,
    And female-as, impatient for th' the event:

    The beautiful house of spools of rider that exceeds in clear way,
    Prepared for clamour and national war.
    Entering, he cries, "Hey! where is our thunder run away?
    No hurricane! Betty, 's Your lady dead?"
    Mrs., apart an ample bit the takings,
    Bows, seem kind, but not a word that she speaks:
    Asking himself/herself/itself, he fixed, as soon as its eyes believed,
    But it found his/her ears pleasantly deceived.
    "Because, as now, Molly, that what time the crotchet is?"
    You smile, and he/she only answer with an arc.
    Hooking then her around,--"Because, allows me to die!
    These nightclotheses, Prostitute, powerfully become thee!"
    With that, him the sighed, its hand started to press,
    It is Betty he/she calls, his/her lady to strip;
    "No, he/she kisses me, Molly for me very I/you/they are tilted."
    His/her lace that she cuts, to pick him/it up in the mind.
    This way the affectionate pair to enamoured of the bed went,
    The lady arranged, and the good content of rider.

    For many days these affectionate affections passed,
    The bottle that reconciles finally fails;
    'Twas used and gone:  Then storms midnight they rose,
    And it looks and words the union disarranges.