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• Think on the Meed, that tickles sweet your Hand, « The glitt'ring Meed, no Doctor can withstand.
" Tho' Doctors differ ;-for the human Tripe • Tho' fome the Purge prefer, and some the Pipe ; « Or in th' Intestines raise the sharp Commotion, 70 • Some with a Pill, and others with a Potion ; • Tho', to apply the Flayer of the Skin, « Some hold a Virtue, others hold a Sin ; • In Antimony fome their Trust repose, And fome in Mercury--to save a Nofe;
75 « In this one Point ye never disagree,
Ye're all unanimous-about the Fee.
• Come then, my Fricnds, (for now methinks Ispy • A mild Complacency in ev'ry Eye,) · Think on the Meed, that tickles sweet your Hand, 80 The glitt'ring Meed, no Doctor can withstand.
N o T E S.
V. 72. The Flayer of the skin. A poetical Expression for Emplaftr. Epispastic.In plain English, a Blister.
V. 76. In this one Point ye never disagree,
re're all unanimous-about the Fee.
About each Symptom how they disagree, -
V. 80. Think on the Meed that tickles fweet your Hand,
The glitt'ring Maed, no Doctor can withstand.
To corroborate the Truth of this Maxim, we shall take the Liberty of setting down the two following short Stories, by Way of Illustration. The
· Like to the Cur in Æsop's Tale display'd, • Ye quit the Substance, and embrace the Shade.
Licentiato Licence has to kill : • Can Socio boast a greater Pow'r, or Skill?
85 « Wile ye dispute, and quarrel for a Word, « Behold!
Patients are to Health restor'd.
N O T E S. Circumstances required the Stile of the Narration to be more familiar than would suit with the Dignity of the Rest of the Poem, to have them interwoven in the Body of it.
A Doctor once (vo Matter whence I ween,
What! dead?-- Yes, Doclor,-dead, but here's
Oh, very weli:- tis all the same to me."
A Doctor oncc (O tell it not in Bath, Left Doctor Somebody be much in Wrath,) Soon as he saw the sick Man, shook his Head, No Pulse-no Breath-the Man in short was dead. Now as our Doctor kept his filent Stand, The tempting Shiner in the dead Man's Hand He faw, he touch'dand seizing, ""Tis for me,' He cried, and took his Farewell,-and the Fee.
V. 87. Behold! your Patients are to Health restor’d.
It is very remarkable, that the * Decrease of Burials within the Bills of Mortality for the Year 1767, is noi less than 1299, owing (it may perhaps be fuppoícil) to the Physicians having been so much takon up with Squabbles among themselves.
* See the General Bil of Mortality, set forth by the Parish Clerks, from Deien:ber 15, 1766, 10 Decemler 15; 1767.
" Ye three-tail'd Sages, cease your Disputation, Be Friends, and social join in Consultation ; - Each shake his loaded Noddle with the other, 90 • And Brother gravely smell his Cane with Brother.'
He ended, and forthwith to Sight appears A Car triumphal in the Form of Hearle: Six coal-black Steeds drag'd its flow Length along, Deaf to Aight, Aight, and heedless of the Thong. 95 These with dull Pace th' infernal Monarch drew, (Laid fiat upon his Back, and hid from View,) In awful Pomp, flow, folemn, fad, and still, Thro' Warwick-Lane, and on, (down Ludgate-Hill,) To the Fleet-Market,--whose stupendous Ditch 100 A lazy Current rolls, as black as Pitch; From whence a Passage, dismal, dark, and dank, Leads underneath to Acheron's gloomy Bank. Twelve sable Imps the Vehicle surround, And with lethiferous Nightshade strew the Ground:
NO TE S.
V. go. Each shake his loaded Noddle with the cther,
And Brother gravely smell his Cane with Brother. An Imitation of the following Lines ; One Fool lolls his Tongue out at another, And shakes his empty Noddle at his Brother. V. 94. Six coal-black Steeds 'drag'd its flow Length
along, A needlels Alexandrine ends the Song: And like a wounded Snake, drag'd its flow
• Length along. V.95. Deaf to Aight, Aight, and heedless to the Thong.
Aight, Aight—an Expression in the Huynhym Language, made Use of by Coachmen, &c. in speaking to the Horses, fignifying, Go on.
A strong Perfume, as in his Car he rode, 106
Their Feuds forgot, the Doctors, with Amaze
Ν Ο Τ Ε.
V. 106. A strong Perfume, as in his Car he rode,
Of Affa Foetida praclaim'd the God.
EPISTLE TO D. GARRICK, Esq.
Quod si tam Graijs, Novitas invisa fuisset,
T Mach Twifting of the Wir and Brains
Translation has unlock'd the Store,
No more shall Taste presume to speak,
Critic, I hear thy Torrent rage,
Euripides his Tafte refin'd,
And Sophocles his last Direction,
Perfection's but a Word ideal,