Rev. Jonathan Swift

P. B., "An Easy and sure Receipt to cure the Piles; in a Letter to D. Sw—t" Weekly Register (3 February 1733).

In a Letter which you sent
Your humble Servant down in Kent,
A whole large Sheet, and ev'ry Line
Adorn'd with Wit, and drest in Rhime,
You gave me this Receipt to cure
The Piles, an easy one and sure:
To wit; When first the Piles do come,
With Laureat's Odes to wipe our Bum.
Now I ne'er had the Piles; but yet
I thought that this your fam'd Receipt,
Not only present ones would cure,
But against future us secure.
On purpose up I went to Town,
And for such Odes laid out a Crown:
And with them daily wip'd my Bum.
But ere one Week was past, I found
My Breech with Piles was spangled round;
And what I thought would sure prevent 'em,
Had contrary to Reason sent 'em.

I oft curst the Receipt, and swore
I'd serve it as the Odes before.
And then, to shew my Spite the better,
I wip'd my — with the whole Letter.
When, O strange Miracle to tell!
I found myself that Instant well.
The Piles retreated from the Plain,
And have not since encamp'd again.
For this, my Gratitude is fervent,
And I remain your humble Servant;

My Name in Length won't come in Rhyme,
So you'll excuse it for this Time;
Howbeit, 'tis proper you should see
The two first Characters, P. B.

I'd have ye keep such Secrets by y',
If any pilish Folk live nigh y'.