University of Virginia Library


100

An Epistle FROM AN APOTHECARY IN BATH, TO A SURGEON IN LONDON.

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This Epistle was occasioned by a regulation which was supposed to exclude all “Venders of Medicines” from the Kingston Rooms in Bath.

My dear Mister Lancet, I take up my pen
To tell you the wrongs of us medical men,
To speak of oppressions we all have endured,
And utter complaints which can never be cured;
And oh! I shall tell you of usage so vile,
That 'twill fever your blood, and unsettle your bile.
After feeling the pulse of the old and the young,
And making remarks on a dowager's tongue;

101

After striving to remedy mortal disasters,
With poultices, blisters, emetics, and plasters:
You know, my dear friend, with what joy and delight
I used to attend the assemblies at night;
And, weary of making up potions and pills,
I gazed at fair faces, and join'd in quadrilles:
Oh! this was delightful; there weekly I met
A dozen fair patients, arranged in the set;
And as we cross'd hands, I approach'd them so close
As to see the effect of my yesterday's dose.
Thus whilst to mamma I prescribe the Bath waters,
A dance with myself I prescribed for the daughters;
I often applied to my partner by chance
An enlivening look as we went down the dance;
And thought it my duty sometimes to impart
Aperient physic to open her heart.
But would you believe it? I now am disgraced!
From the book of subscriptions my name is erased!

102

They've sent back my money, and wickedly swear
No “vender of medicines” shall ever go there!
It seems 'tis their firm resolution to stop
All medical people who smell of the shop:
No pounder or mixer of physic may see
Their new operations:—whereas an M. D.
Because he's diploma'd, and licensed to kill,
May boldly prescribe, and subscribe if he will;
A doctor may still be a dancer, and thus
Rooms are open to them, but are costive to us.
To be sent in disgrace from the gay and the young
Is surely sufficient to blister my tongue;
'Tis enough to suspend animation, and place
My professional drugs in the hues of my face.
But list! and beware, oh! ye Kingston Committee!
How ye injure the physical strength of the city:
For if you persist in your new regulation,
You'll keep out the Mayor and the whole Corporation!

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Awhile ye may triumph, and laugh at our woe—
But when ye are sick, and your spirits are low,
When those you turn'd out shall at length be call'd in,
Oh! tremble, for then shall our vengeance begin:
Whole legions of gallipots soon shall arise,
And surgical terrors shall dazzle your eyes;
Your bowels shall suffer,—we'll punish you thus,
Remembering that you had no bowels for us;
Pillulas and powders shall fall to your lot,
Till we find you no longer worth powder and shot;
We'll drench you with drugs, and new plans we'll pursue,
And try all experiments first upon you;
Your blood shall be spilt, and your tears shall be shed,
And our phials of wrath shall be pour'd on your head.

104

You see, my dear Lancet, I'm quite in a passion
At being expell'd from the regions of fashion;
I will not submit to so grievous a fall,
For I never can stomach the measure at all;
You surely must own this medicinal question
Will prove to our tribe rather hard of digestion:
When I feel I'm consider'd a vulgar excrescence
(My blood's in a state of complete effervescence)
I'll poison our foes,—nay, their end shall be shorter,
I'll pound them to death with my pestle and mortar;
No ball-room committee shall ever controul us,
Is the firm resolution of
Anthony Bolus.