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James Thomson - The Incomparable Soporific Doctor
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Sweet, sleeky Doctor! dear pacific soul! 
Lay at the beef, and suck the vital bowl!
Still let the involving smoke around thee fly,
And broad-looked dulness settle in thine eye.
Ah! soft in down these dainty limbs repose,
And in the very lap of slumber doze;
But chiefly on the lazy day of grace,
Call forth the lambent glories of thy face;
If aught the thoughts of dinner can prevail, 
And sure the Sunday`s dinner cannot fail, 
To the thin church in sleepy pomp proceed,
And lean on the lethargic book thy head;
Those eyes wipe often with the hallowed lawn,
Profoundly nod, immeasurably yawn;
Slow let the prayers by thy meek lips be sung,
Nor let thy thoughts be distanced by thy tongue; 
If e`er the lingerers are within a call, 
Or if on prayers thou deign`st to think at all.
Yet — only yet — the swimming head we bend;
But when serene, the pulpit you ascend,
Through every joint a gentle horror creeps, 
And round you the consenting audience sleeps.
So when an ass with sluggish front appears,
The horses start, and prick their quivering ears;
But soon as ere the sage is heard to bray,
The fields all thunder, and they bound away.
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