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<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DOCTER LEWS, </h3>
<p>Give me leaf to tell you, methinks you mought employ your talons better,
than to encourage servants to pillage their masters. I find by Gwyllim,
that Villiams has got my skin; for which he is an impotent rascal. He has
not only got my skin, but, moreover, my butter-milk to fatten his pigs;
and, I suppose, the next thing he gets, will be my pad to carry his
daughter to church and fair: Roger gets this, and Roger gets that; but I'd
have you to know, I won't be rogered at this rate by any ragmatical fellow
in the kingdom—And I am surprised, docter Lews, you would offer to
put my affairs in composition with the refuge and skim of the hearth. I
have toiled and moyled to a good purpuss, for the advantage of Matt's
family, if I can't safe as much owl as will make me an under petticoat. As
for the butter-milk, ne'er a pig in the parish shall thrust his snout in
it, with my good-will. There's a famous physician at the Hot Well, that
prescribes it to his patience, when the case is consumptive; and the Scots
and Irish have begun to drink it already, in such quantities, that there
is not a drop left for the hogs in the whole neighbourhood of Bristol.
I'll have our butter-milk barrelled up, and sent twice a-week to
Aberginny, where it may be sold for a half-penny the quart; and so Roger
may carry his pigs to another market—I hope, Docter, you will not go
to put any more such phims in my brother's head, to the prejudice of my
pockat; but rather give me some raisins (which hitherto you have not done)
to subscribe myself</p>
<p>Your humble servant, TAB. BRAMBLE BATH, May 19.</p>
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