Oh! Mr Best You're Very Bad

Oh! Mr. Best, you're very bad

And all the world shall know it;

Your base behaviour shall be sung

By me, a tunefull Poet.—

You used to go to Harrowgate

Each summer as it came,

And why I pray should you refuse

To go this year the same?—

The way's as plain, the road's as smooth,

The Posting not increased;

You're scarcely stouter than you were,

Not younger Sir at least.—

If e'er the waters were of use

Why now their use forego?

You may not live another year,

All's mortal here below.—

It is your duty Mr Best

To give your health repair.

Vain else your Richard's pills will be,

And vain your Consort's care.

But yet a nobler Duty calls

You now towards the North.

Arise ennobled—as Escort

Of Martha Lloyd stand forth.

She wants your aid—she honours you

With a distinguished call.

Stand forth to be the friend of her

Who is the friend of all.—

Take her, and wonder at your luck,

In having such a Trust.

Her converse sensible and sweet

Will banish heat and dust.—

So short she'll make the journey seem

You'll bid the Chaise stand still.

T'will be like driving at full speed

From Newb'ry to Speen hill.—

Convey her safe to Morton's wife

And I'll forget the past,

And write some verses in your praise

As finely and as fast.

But if you still refuse to go

I'll never let your rest,

Buy haunt you with reproachful song

Oh! wicked Mr. Best!—