 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
359
TO Dr. Arbuthnot,
On Occasion of the Indisposition of John Earl of Stair, 1726.
Is
Stair, the Patriot and the Patron, ill?
Where then, Arbuthnot, is thy saving Skill?
Say, thou great Æsculapius of our Isle,
On whom Apollo, and the Muses smile,
Is the dire Cause of this Disease unknown?
Or, for thy Art, too high and mighty grown?
Impossible! thy Recipes excel,
And thou hast studied Constitutions well.
Twice to thy Hand Britannia look'd for Aid,
When Anna's Illness made her Sons afraid;
And twice thy Hand the Tyrant's Rage o'ercame,
Preserv'd the Queen, and won immortal Fame.
—But, ah! renown'd Physician, shall Disease
Not, by thy Means, on this Occasion, cease?
Stair is the Patient! Stair, our noble Chief!
In Peace, or War, the Nation's sure Relief!
Shall He feel Pain, at this important Time?
He suffer, for some mighty publick Crime?
How will the News confound our good Allies?
How animate our dareing Enemies?
Rather, Britannia, be whole Legions lost:
Let Gibraltar become the Spanish Boast.
Hero and Courtier, most accomplish'd, He!
The best great Man, and all in all, to Me!
O cou'd my Pain relieve my tortur'd Lord!
O cou'd my Blood, to Him, sound Health afford!
—But vain the Wish. What pious Pray'rs can save
The greatest Mortal from the gapeing Grave?
Yet, shou'd He yield to all-devouring Death,
What then, to Me, wou'd boot surviving Breath?
Stair once departed, what cou'd cheer my Mind?
Mæcenas gone, wou'd Horace stay behind?
No. 'Tis resolv'd, whene'er the Patron dies,
The Poet shall attend him to the Skies.
Where then, Arbuthnot, is thy saving Skill?
Say, thou great Æsculapius of our Isle,
On whom Apollo, and the Muses smile,
Is the dire Cause of this Disease unknown?
Or, for thy Art, too high and mighty grown?
Impossible! thy Recipes excel,
And thou hast studied Constitutions well.
360
When Anna's Illness made her Sons afraid;
And twice thy Hand the Tyrant's Rage o'ercame,
Preserv'd the Queen, and won immortal Fame.
—But, ah! renown'd Physician, shall Disease
Not, by thy Means, on this Occasion, cease?
Stair is the Patient! Stair, our noble Chief!
In Peace, or War, the Nation's sure Relief!
Shall He feel Pain, at this important Time?
He suffer, for some mighty publick Crime?
How will the News confound our good Allies?
How animate our dareing Enemies?
Rather, Britannia, be whole Legions lost:
Let Gibraltar become the Spanish Boast.
Hero and Courtier, most accomplish'd, He!
The best great Man, and all in all, to Me!
361
O cou'd my Blood, to Him, sound Health afford!
—But vain the Wish. What pious Pray'rs can save
The greatest Mortal from the gapeing Grave?
Yet, shou'd He yield to all-devouring Death,
What then, to Me, wou'd boot surviving Breath?
Stair once departed, what cou'd cheer my Mind?
Mæcenas gone, wou'd Horace stay behind?
No. 'Tis resolv'd, whene'er the Patron dies,
The Poet shall attend him to the Skies.
But see! He's well! by kind Arbuthnot's Art,
Affliction's banish'd from my Hero's Heart.
New Life and Vigour animate his Frame!
His Looks and Air recover'd Health proclaim!
Again He moves! again appears Abroad!
Adorns the Court! and personates a God!
How glad each Face! how joyful every Friend!
—Quick, to our Foes, the fatal Tydings send,
That Charles and Philip, Thunderstruck, may yield
To British Terms, and timely quit the Field.
Affliction's banish'd from my Hero's Heart.
New Life and Vigour animate his Frame!
His Looks and Air recover'd Health proclaim!
Again He moves! again appears Abroad!
Adorns the Court! and personates a God!
362
—Quick, to our Foes, the fatal Tydings send,
That Charles and Philip, Thunderstruck, may yield
To British Terms, and timely quit the Field.
And, thou Arbuthnot, Arbiter of Health!
Thou second Saviour! live in Peace and Wealth.
While surly and pragmatic Doctors kill,
Let great good Nature, and true Humour, still
Inspire thy Recipes, and recommend thy Skill.
So shall the Muses sing Thee in their Lays;
And Gulliver, himself, proclaim thy Praise,
Thee, the great Brobdingnagian Doctor call,
And others puny Lilliputians all!
Thou second Saviour! live in Peace and Wealth.
While surly and pragmatic Doctors kill,
Let great good Nature, and true Humour, still
Inspire thy Recipes, and recommend thy Skill.
So shall the Muses sing Thee in their Lays;
And Gulliver, himself, proclaim thy Praise,
Thee, the great Brobdingnagian Doctor call,
And others puny Lilliputians all!
| Poems on Several Occasions | |