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On my Mother and my Lady W**** who both lay sick at the same time under the Hands of Dr. Paman.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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On my Mother and my Lady W**** who both lay sick at the same time under the Hands of Dr. Paman.

Like two sweet Youths strip'd naked on the Strand,
Ready to plunge, in consternation stand,
Viewing the dimples of that smiling Face,
Whose frigid Body they design t' imbrace,
Till by their Guardian Angel's care, some friend
Snatches them from the danger they intend:
So did these Pious Souls themselves prepare,
By putting off the Robes of worldly care.
Thus fitted (as they were) in each degree,
To lanch into a bless'd Eternity;
They both had shot the Gulph
Had not their Guardian-God, good Paman sent,
Who by his Skill a longer time them lent.

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Ah happy Paman, mightily approv'd,
Both by thy Patients, and the Poor belov'd.
Hence let no Slander light upon the Fame
Of thy great Art, much less upon thy Name:
Nor to bad Druggs let Fate thy Worth expose,
For best Receipts are baffl'd oft by those:
Nor let no Quack intrude where thou do'st come,
To crop thy Fame, or haste thy Patients doom;
Base Quackery to Sickness the kind Nurse,
The Patients ruine, and Physicians curse:
Let no infectious Sickness seize thy Blood,
But that thou may'st live long to do much good.
May all the Blessings light on thee that can
Attend a Doctor, or a Christian Man.
Since by thy care thou hast restor'd to us,
Two in whom Virtue's most conspicuous:
Better, I'm sure, no Age can ever shew,
Whose Lives are Precepts, and Examples too.