Divine Poems | ||
134
Upon his late Ague, or the new Feaver, as it was call'd.
What a strange thing's this Ague? which doth makeMe like an earthquake first with cold to shake;
Then like mount Etna burn with fervent heat,
And by and by dissolve into a sweat?
Sure 'tis some Cacodamon, by his art
Insinuating himselfe in every part;
Now in the head, then in the back it lies,
Sometimes i'th' stomack, sometimes in the thighs,
Now like a Souldier whom nothing can stay,
He sets upon me boldly at midday;
Then like a thief steals on me late at night,
Or early e're th'approach o'th' morning light.
Shame of Physicians 'tis, for all their tribe
Cannot a certain remedie prescribe.
Faustus or some such Conjurer would be
The better Doctor in this cure, for he
Might by his magick charms perhaps expel
This freezing, burning, sweating spirit of hel.
If then it wil no other way be gone,
I wil turne Conjurer, but an holy one,
And with my prayers to heaven exorcise
This evil spirit thus; Let God arise
With healing in his wings, and first begin
To heal my souls disease and sicknesse, sin,
Then let this great Physician apply
A salve to cure my bodies malady;
135
But speak the word, thy servant shal be wel.
Divine Poems | ||