Dedicated to the SISTERHOOD of the ROTUNDOS

# The little HOOP,
An EPISTLE:

From a *Lafs* in the *COUNTRY*, to her *Aunt* in *LONDON*,
Occasioned by her fending a fashionable HOOP, for the Use of the
Author's Mother.

DEAR Aunt, my Mother's Hoop is come,
It suits not an extenfive bum:
Mamma is large—the Hoop too small,
And seems on her no Hoop at all:
It noughts takes off from fize of rump,
But makes it look a bigger bump.
She tryed it on—but muſt repent,
That ſuch a thing was ever ſent,
A ſtory ſhort I now ſhall tell—
Happy if I relate it well.

Mother takes ſome Cream of Tartar,
By advice of Doctor C—
She meaſur'd out a proper doſe,
And by my Father fet it cloſe,
He ſaid unto his Wife—“My Dear,
This Tartar ſurely looks but queer,
*Tis Arfenic like—pray have a care.”

Deaf ſhe ſeem'd to Father's ſaying,
Mutter'd ſomething like to praying:
Took down the doſe in fine green tea,
When Father left both her and me.

My Mother, now, Aunt's Hoop wou'd try—
I gave affiſtance—and ſtood by,
It monſtrouſly increas'd her ſize,
And was in truth a ſore diſguſe.

Dad came in—found Mamma alter'd—
Scarce could ſpeak—his tongue ſo falter'd.
“Love! quoth he, you'll die a martyr
To the doſe of Cream of Tartar:
It was Aſſenic—ſure as fate;
Curſe on the Druggit's careleſs pate!
Your belly's ſwell'd—you foon muſt burſt;
I ſaid it *twas* poſſon from the firſt.”
Frighten'd to death—the Hoop ſorgot—
We thought had happen'd—God knows what.
My Mother cry'd “What ſhall I do?
I find that I am inclined to—
O! I perceive a burning heat,
And pricking pains from head to feet;
A fur is come upon my tongue;
Pray ſend away for Doctor Y—”

The Doctor's ſent for—in he came,
Hobbling, for with Gout he's lame.
He firſt took oil in china boat,
And pour'd a gallon down her throat:
Drench'd her poor boſom, and her lap,
And ruin'd quite a fine lace cap:
Frefh butter melted, with ſome milk,
He threw all over gown of filk:
With theſe, and vinegar of ſquills,
He fill'd my Mother to the gills,
Quick a ſtrong vomiting enſu'd;
And more than pail-full Mamma—
The Doctor finding at no rate
My Mother's ſwelling wou'd abate,
Gave ſad look—and ſaid, “Dear Madam,
Death befalls each child of Adam:
I'm ſory that I came too late;
You muſt ſubmit unto your fate.”

My Father now leap'd from his chair,
And with a mournful, ſolemn air,
Cry'd out “Alas! we all muſt die:
So, my ſweet love—Good by—Good by.”
Out then he flew with ſwifteſt pace—
I ſaw a ſmile upon his face.

Doctor ſaid to make ſure telling,
He'd beg leave to feel the ſwellling:
The Doctor felt—the Hoop was found,
And Mamma prov'd both ſafe and found.
“L- d! quoth he, how I'm miſtaken!
I never met with founder bacon.”

I ran to Father—He ſaid, “Jane,
You find the Doctor's help is vain.”

“Dear Sir!—My Mamma is not dying—
It was Aunt's Hoop that ſhe was trying,”
O! how Father fell a crying!

If thus a Hoop can make ſuch pother,
Who wou'd wiſh to ſee another?

J. D.

Printed by J. DELAHÖY, at his New Oddity Shop, No. 36, Water-
Lane, Black-Friars.

( Price ONE PENNY. )