The Dispensary :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Dispensary

A Poem. In Six Cantos. The Seventh Edition. With several Descriptions and Episodes never before Printed [by Sir Samuel Garth]

Garth, Samuel (1661-1719)

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[dedication]

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TO MY FRIEND, UPON THE DISPENSARY.

To Dr. G---th, upon the Dispensary.

TO MY Friend the Author, Desiring My Opinion of his POEM.

To my Friend, Dr. G---th, the Author of the Dispensary.

THE DISPENSARY.

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TO MY FRIEND, UPON THE DISPENSARY.

As when the People of the Northern Zone
Find the Approach of the Revolving Sun,
Pleas'd and reviv'd, They see the new-born Light,
And dread no more Eternity of Night:

Thus We, who lately as of Summer's Heat
Have felt a Dearth of Poetry and Wit;
Once fear'd, Apollo would return no more
From warmer Climes, to an ungrateful Shore.
But You, the Fav'rite of the Tuneful Nine,
Have made the God in his full Lustre shine;
Our Night have chang'd into a Glorious Day;
And reach'd Perfection in your first Essay:
So the young Eagle that his Force would try,
Faces the Sun, and tow'rs it to the Sky.

Others proceed to Art by slow Degrees,
Aukward at first, at length they faintly please.
And still whate'er their first Efforts produce,
'Tis an Abortive, or an Infant Muse:

Whilst yours, like Pallas from the Head of Jove,
Steps out full grown, with Noblest Pace to move.
What ancient Poets to their Subject owe,
Is here inverted, and this owes to you:
You found it Little, but have made it Great;
They could Describe, but you alone Create.

Now let your Muse rise with Expanded Wings,
To sing the Fate of Empires, and of Kings,
Great WILLIAM's Victories she'll next rehearse,
And raise a Trophy of Immortal Verse:
Thus to your Art proportion the Design,
And Mighty Things with Mighty Numbers join,
A Second Namur, or a Future Boyne.

H. BLOUNT.

To Dr. G---th, upon the Dispensary.

Oh that some Genius, whose Poetick Vein,
Like M---gue's cou'd a just Piece sustain,
Wou'd search the Græcian and the Latin Store,
And thence present thee with the purest Oar.
In lasting Numbers praise thy whole Design,
And Manly Beauty of each Nervous Line.
Show how your pointed Satyr's Sterling Wit
Does only Knaves, or formal Blockheads hit;
Who're gravely Dull, insipidly Serene,
And carry all their Wisdom in their Mein.
Whom thus expos'd, thus strip'd of their Disguise,
None will again Admire, most will Despise.
Show in what Noble Verse Nassau you sing,
How such a Poet's worthy such a King.
When S---r's Charming Eloquence you Praise,
How loftily your Tuneful Voice you raise!
But my poor feeble Muse is as unfit
To Praise, as Imitate what you have writ.
Artists alone shou'd venture to Commend
What D---s can't Condemn, nor D---n Mend:
What must, writ with that Fire and with that Ease,
The Beaux, the Ladies and the Criticks please.

C. BOYLE.

TO MY Friend the Author, Desiring My Opinion of his POEM.

Ask me not, Friend what I Approve or Blame,
Perhaps I know not why I Like, nor Damn;
I can be Pleas'd; and I dare own I am.
I read Thee over with a Lover's Eye,
Thou hast no Faults, or I no Faults can spy;
Thou art all Beauty, or all Blindness I.
Criticks and aged Beaux of Fancy chaste,
Who ne'er had Fire or else whose Fire is past,
Must judge by Rules what they want Force to Taste.
I wou'd a Poet, like a Mistress, try,
Not by her Hair, her Hand, her Nose, her Eye;
But by some Nameless Pow'r, to give me Joy,
The Nymph has G---n's, C---l's, C---l's Charm
If with resistless Fires my Soul she warms
With Balm upon her Lips, and Raptures in her Arms.
Such is thy Genius, and such Art is thine,
Some secret Magick works in ev'ry Line;
We judge not, but we feel the Pow'r Divine.
Where all is Just, is Beauteous, and is Fair,
Distinctions vanish of peculiar Air.

Lost in our Pleasure, we Enjoy in you
Lucretius, Horace, S---d, M---gue.
And yet 'tis thought, some Criticks in this Town,
By Rules to all, but to themselves, unknown,
Will Damn thy Verse, and Justifie their own.
Why, let them Damn: Were it not wond'rous hard
Facetious M--- and the City B---
So near ally'd in Learning, Wit, and Skill,
Shou'd not have leave to Judge, as well as Kill?
Nay, let them write; Let them their Forces join,
And hope the Motly Piece may rival thine.
Safely despise their Malice, and their Toil,
Which Vulgar Ears alone will reach, and will defile.
Be it thy Gen'rous Pride to please the Best,
Whose Judgment, and whose Friendship is a Test.
With Learned H--- thy healing Cares be join'd,
Search thoughtful R---e to his inmost Mind:
Unite, restore your Arts, and save Mankind.
Whilst all the busie M---ls of the Town
Envy our Health and pine away their own.
When e'er thou wou'dst a Tempting Muse engage,
Judicious W---h can best direct her Rage.
To S---s, and to D---t too submit,
And let their Stamp Immortalize thy Wit.
Consenting Phœbus bows, if they Approve,
And Ranks thee with the foremost Bards above:
Whilst these of Right the Deathless Laurel send,
Be it my Humble Bus'ness to Commend
The faithful, honest Man, and the well-natur'd Friend.

Chr. Codrington.

To my Friend, Dr. G---th, the Author of the Dispensary.

To Praise your Healing Art would be in vain;
The Health you give, prevents the Poet's Pen.
Sufficiently confirm'd is your Renown,
And I but fill the Chorus of the Town.
That let me wave, and only now Admire
The dazling Rays of your Poetick Fire:
Which its diffusive Virtue does dispense,
In flowing Verse, and elevated Sense.

The Town, which long has swallow'd foolish Verse,
Which Poetasters ev'ry where rehearse;
Will mend their Judgment now, refine their Taste,
And gather up th'Applause they threw in waste.
The Play-House shan't Encourage false Sublime,
Abortive Thoughts, with Decoration-Rhime.

The Satyr of Vile Scribblers shall appear
On none, except upon themselves, severe:
While yours Contemns the Gall of Vulgar Spight,
And when you seem to Smile the most, you Bite.

Tho. Cheek.

THE DISPENSARY.

CANTO I.

Speak, Goddess! since 'tis Thou that best canst tell,
How ancient Leagues to modern Discord fell;
And why Physicians were so cautious grown
Of Others Lives, and lavish of their Own;
How by a Journey to th'Elysian Plain
Peace triumph'd, and old Time return'd again.

Not far from that most celebrated Place,
Where angry Justice shews her awful Face;
Where little Villains must submit to Fate,
That great Ones may enjoy the World in State;
There stands a Dome, Majestick to the Sight,
And sumptuous Arches bear its oval Height;

A golden Globe plac'd high with artful Skill,
Seems, to the distant Sight a gilded Pill:
This Pile was, by the Pious Patron's Aim,
Rais'd for a Use as Noble as its Frame:
Nor did the Learn'd Society decline
The Propagation of that great Design;
In all her Mazes, Nature's Face they view'd,
And as she disappear'd, their Search pursu'd.
Wrapt in the Shades of Night the Goddess lyes,
Yet to the Learn'd unveils her dark Disguise,
But shuns the gross Access of vulgar Eyes.

Now she unfolds the faint, and dawning Strife
Of infant Atoms kindling into Life:
How ductile Matter new Meanders takes,
And slender Trains of twisting Fibres makes.
And how the Viscous seeks a closer Tone,
By just degrees to harden into Bone;
While the more Loose flow from the vital Urn,
And in full Tides of Purple Streams return;
How lambent Flames from Life's bright Lamp arise,
And dart in Emanations through the Eyes;
How from each Sluice a gentle Torrent pours,
To slake a feav'rish Heat with ambient Show'rs.
Whence, their Mechanick Pow'rs, the Spirits claim,
How great their Force, how delicate their Frame:
How the same Nerves are fashion'd to sustain
The greatest Pleasure and the greatest Pain.
Why bileous Juice a Golden Light puts on,
And Floods of Chyle in Silver Currents run.
How the dim Speck of Entity began
T'exert its primogenial Heat and stretch to Man.

To how minute an Origin we owe
Young Ammon, Cæsar, and the Great Nassau
Why paler Looks impetuous Rage proclaim,
And why chill Virgins redden into Flame.
Why Envy oft transforms with wan Disguise,
And why gay Mirth sits smiling in the Eyes.
All Ice why Lucrece, or Sempronia, Fire,
Why S--- rages to survive Desire.
Whence Milo's Vigour at Olympick's shown,
Whence Tropes to F--- or Impudence to S---
How Matter, by the vary'd shape of Pores,
Or Idiots frames or solemn Senators.

Hence 'tis we wait the wond'rous Cause to find,
How Body acts upon impassive Mind.
How Fumes of Wine the thinking Part can sire,
Past Hopes revive, and present Joys inspire:
Why our Complexions oft our Soul declare,
And how the Passions in the Features are.
How Touch and Harmony arise between
Corporeal Figure, and a Form unseen,
How quick their Faculties the Limbs fulfil,
And act at ev'ry Summons of the Will.
With mighty Truths, mysterious to descry,
Which in the Womb of distant Causes lye.

But now no grand Enquiries are descry'd,
Mean Faction reigns where Knowledge shou'd preside,
Feuds are encreas'd and Learning laid aside.
Thus Synods oft, Concern for Faith conceal;
And for important Nothings show a Zeal:

The drooping Sciences neglected pine,
And Pœan's Beams with fading Lustre shine.
No Readers here with Hectick Looks are found,
Or Eyes in Rheum, thro' midnight-watching drown'd:
The lonely Edifice in Sweats complains
That nothing there but sullen Silence reigns.

Thus Place so fit for undisturb'd Repose,
The God of Sloth for his Asylum chose.
Upon a Couch of Down in these Abodes
Supine with folded Arms he thoughtless nods,
Indulging Dreams his Godhead lull to Ease,
With Murmurs of soft Rills, and whisp'ring Trees,
The Poppy and each numbing Plant dispense
Their drowzy Virtue, and dull Indolence.
No Passions interrupt his easie Reign,
No Problems puzzle his Lethargick Brain,
But dark Oblivion guards his peaceful Bed,
And lazy Fogs hang ling'ring o'er his Head.

As at full Length the pamper'd Monarch lay
Batt'ning in Ease, and slumb'ring Life away:
A spiteful Noise his downy Chains unties,
Hastes forward, and encreases as it flies.

First, some to cleave the stubborn Flint engage,
Till urg'd by Blows, it sparkles into Rage,
Some temper Lute, some spacious Vessels move;
These Furnaces erect, and Those approve.

Here Phyals in nice Discipline are set,
There Gally-pots are rang'd in Alphabet.
In this place, Magazines of Pills you spy;
In that, like Forage, Herbs in Bundles lye.
While lifted Pestles brandish'd in the Air
Descend in Peals, and Civil Wars declare.
Loud Stroaks, with pounding Spice, the Fabrick rend,
And Aromatick Clouds in Spires ascend.

So when the Cyclops o'er their Anvils sweat,
And swelling Sinews ecchoing Blows repeat;
From the Volcano's gross Eruptions rise,
And curling Sheets of Smoke obscure the Skies,

The slumb'ring God amaz'd at this new Din,
Thrice strove to rise, and thrice sunk down agen.
Listless he stretch'd, and gaping rubb'd his Eyes,
Then falter'd thus betwixt half Words and Sighs

How impotent a Deity am I!
With Godhead born, but curs'd, that cannot die!
Thro' my Indulgence, Mortals hourly share
A grateful Negligence, and Ease from Care.
Lull'd in my Arms, how long have I with-held
The Northern Monarchs from the dusty Field.
How have I kept the British Fleet at Ease,
From tempting the rough Dangers of the Seas.
Hibernia owns the Mildness of my Reign,
And my Divinity's ador'd in Spain.
I Swains to Sylvan Solitudes convey,
Where stretch'd on Mossy Beds, they waste away,
In gentle Joys the Night, in Vows the Day.

What Marks of wond'rous Clemency I've shown,
Some Rev'rend Worthies of the Gown can own.
Triumphant Plenty, with a chearful Grace,
Basks in their Eyes, and sparkles in their Face.
How sleek their Looks, how goodly is their Mien,
When big they strut behind a double Chin.
Each Faculty in Blandishments they lull,
Aspiring to be venerably dull.
No learn'd Debates molest their downy Trance,
Or discompose their pompous Ignorance:
But undisturb'd, they loiter Life away,
So wither Green, and blossom in Decay.
Deep sunk in Down, they, by my gentle Care,
Avoid th'Inclemencies of Morning Air.
And leave to tatter'd Crape the Drudgery of Pray'r.

Urim was civil, and not void of Sense,
Had Humour, and a courteous Confidence.
So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks;
The hallow'd Rose declares him Orthodox.
He pass'd his easie Hours, instead of Pray'r,
In Madrigals, and Phillising the Fair.
Constant at Feasts, and each Decorum knew;
And soon as the Dessert appear'd, withdrew.
Always obliging and without Offence,
And fancy'd for his gay Impertinence.
But see how ill mistaken Parts succeed;
He threw off my Dominion, and would read;
Engag'd in Controversie, wrangled well;
In Convocation-Language cou'd excel.

In Volumes prov'd the Church without Defence,
By nothing guarded but by Providence:
How Grace and Moderation disagree;
And Violence advances Charity.
Thus writ 'till none would read, becoming soon
A wretched Scribler, of a rare Buffoon.

Mankind my fond propitious Pow'r has try'd,
Too oft to own, too much to be deny'd.
And all I ask are Shades and silent Bow'rs,
To pass in soft Forgetfullness my Hours.
Oft have my Fears some distant Villa chose,
O'er their Quietus where fat Judges dose,
And lull their Cough and Consciente to repose:
Or if some Cloyster's Refuge I implore,
Where holy Drones o'er dying Tapers snore:
The Peals of Nassau Arms these Eyes unclose,
Mine he molests, to give the World Repose.
That Ease I offer with Contempt He flies,
His Couch a Trench, his Canopy the Skies.
Nor Climes nor Seasons his Resolves controul,
Th'Æquator has no Heat, no Ice the Pole.
With Arms resistless o'er the Globe he flies,
And leaves to Jove the Empire o' the Skies.

But as the slothful God to yawn begun,
He shook off the dull Mist, and thus went on.

'Twas in this rev'rend Dome I sought Repose,
These Walls were that Asylum I had chose.

Here have I rul'd long undisturb'd with Broils
And laugh'd at Heroes, and their glorious Toils,
My Annals are in mouldy Mildews wrought,
With easie Insignificance of Thought.
But now some busie, enterprizing Brain
Invents new Fancies to renew my Pain,
And labours to dissolve my easie Reign.

With that, the God his darling Phantom calls,
And from his falt'ring Lips this Message falls:

Since Mortals will dispute my Pow'r, I'll try
Who has the greatest Empire, they or I.
Find Envy out, some Prince's Court attend,
Most likely there you'll meet the famish'd Fiend.
Or where dull Criticks Author's Fate foretel;
Or where stale Maids, or meager Eunuchs dwell.
Tell the bleak Fury what new Projects reign,
Among the Homicides of Warwick-Lane.
And what th'Event, unless she strait enclines
To blast their Hopes, and baffle their Designs.

More he had spoke, but sudden Vapours rise,
And with their silken Cords tie down his Eyes.

Old Baily.

College of Physicians.

The Building of the Dispensary.

See Boil. Lut.

CANTO II.

Soon as the Ev'ning veil'd the Mountains Heads,
And Winds lay hush'd in subterranean Beds;
Whilst sick'ning Flow'rs drink up the Silver Dew,
And Beaus, for some Assembly, dress anew;
The City Saints to Pray'rs and Play-house haste;
The Rich to Dinner, and the Poor to Rest:
Officious Phantom then prepar'd with Care
To slide on tender Pinions through the Air.
Oft he attempts the Summit of a Rock,
And oft the Hollow of some blasted Oak;
At length approaching where bleak Envy lay,
The hissing of her Snakes proclaim'd the way.

Beneath the gloomy Covert of an Yew,
That taints the Grass with sickly Sweats of Dew;
No verdant Beauty entertains the Sight,
But baneful Hemlock, and cold Aconite;

In a dark Grott the baleful Haggard lay,
Breathing black Vengeance, and infecting Day.
But how deform'd, and worn with spightful Woes.
When Aocius has Applause Dorsennus shows.
The cheerful Blood her meager Cheeks forsook,
And Basilisks sate Brooding in her Look.
A bald and bloated Toad-stool rais'd her Head;
The Plumes of boding Ravens were her Bed.
From her chapp'd Nostrils scalding Torrents fall,
And her sunk Eyes boil o'er in Floods of Gall.
Volcano's labour thus with inward Pains,
Whilst Seas of melted Oar lay waste the Plains.

Around the Fiend in hideous Order sate
Fowl bawling Infamy, and bold Debate:
Gruff Discontent, thro' Ignorance mis-led,
And clam'rous Faction at her Party's Head:
Restless Sedition still dissembling Fear,
And sly Hypocrisie with Pious Leer.

Glouting with sullen Spight the Fury shook
Her clotter'd Locks and blasted with each Look,
Then tore with canker'd Teeth the pregnant Scrolls,
Where Fame the Acts of Demy-Gods enrolls.
And as the rent Records in pieces fell,
Each Scrap did some Immortal Action tell.

This show'd, how fix'd as Fate Torquatus stood,
That, the fam'd Passage of the Granick Flood;
The Julian Eagles, here, their Wings display,
And there, like setting Stars, the Decii lay;
This does Camillus as a God extol,
That points at Manlius in the Capitol;

How Cochles did the Tyber's Surges brave,
How Curtius plung'd into the gaping Grave.
Great Cyrus, here the Medes and Persians join,
And, there, th'immortal Battel of the Boyn.

As the light Messenger the Fury spy'd,
A while his curdling Blood forgot to glide:
Confusion on his fainting Vitals hung,
And falt'ring Accents flutter'd on his Tongue.
At length, assuming Courage, he convey'd
His Errand, then he shrunk into a Shade.

The Hag lay long revolving what might be
The blest Event of such an Embassie
Then blazons in dread Smiles her hideous Form,
So Light'ning gilds the unrelenting Storm.
Thus she—Mankind are bless'd, they riot still
Unbounded in Exorbitance of Ill.
By Devastation the rough Warrior gains,
And Farmers fatten most when Famine reigns;
For sickly Seasons the Physicians wait,
And Politicians thrive in Broils of State.
The Lover's easie when the Fair One sighs,
And Gods subsist not but by Sacrifice.

Each other Being some Indulgence knows,
Few are my Joys but infinite my Woes.
My present Pain Britannia's Genius wills,
And thus the Fates record my future Ills.

A Heroine shall Albion's Scepter bear.
With Arms shall vanquish Earth, and Heav'n with Pray'r.

She on the World her Clemency shall show'r,
And only to preserve exert her Pow'r.
Tyrants shall then their impious Aims forbear,
And Blenheim's Thunder, more than Ætna's, fear.

Since by no Arts I therefore can defeat
The happy Enterprizes of the Great,
I'll calmly stoop to more inferior Things;
And try if my lov'd Snakes have Teeth or Stings.

She said; and strait shrill Colon's Person took,
In Morals loose, but most precise in Look.
Black-Fryars Annals lately pleas'd to call
Him Warden of Apothecaries-Hall.
And, when so dignify'd, did not forbear
That Operation which the Learn'd declare
Gives Cholicks ease, and makes the Ladies fair.
In trifling Show his Tinsel Talent lies,
And Form the want of Intellects supplies.
In Aspect grand and gooldy He appears,
Rever'd as Patriarchs in primæval Years.
Hourly his Learn'd Impertinence affords
A barren Superfluity of Words.
The Patient's Ears remorseles he assails,
Murthers with Jargon where his Med'cine fails.

The Fury thus assuming Colon's Grace,
So slung her Arms, so shuffl'd in her Pace.
Onward she hastens to the fam'd Abodes,
Where Horoscope invokes th'infernal Gods;

And reach'd the Mansion where the Vulgar run,
For Ruin throng, and pay to be undone.

This Visionarie various Projects tries,
And knows, that to be Rich is to be Wise.
By useful Observations he can tell
The sacred Charms, that in true Sterling dwell.
How Gold makes a Patrician of a Slave,
A Dwarf an Atlas, a Thersites brave.
It cancels all Defects, and in their Place
Finds Sense in Br---, Charms in Lady G---.
It guides the Fancy, and directs the Mind;
No Bankrupt ever found a Fair One kind.

So truly Horoscope its Virtue knows,
To this lov'd Idol 'tis, alone, he bows;
And fancies such bright Heraldry can prove,
The vile Plebeian but the third from Jove.

Long has he been of that amphibious Fry.
Bold to Prescribe, and busie to Apply.
His Shop the gazing Vulgar's Eyes employs
With Foreign Trinkets, and Domestick Toys.

Here, Mummies lay most reverendly stale,
And there, the Tortois hung her Coat o'Mail;
Not far from some hugh Shark's devouring Head
The flying Fish their finny Pinions spread.
Aloft in Rows large Poppy Heads were strung,
And near, a scaly Alligator hung.
In this place, Drugs in musty Heaps decay'd,
In that, dry'd Bladders, and drawn Teeth were laid.

An inner Room receives the num'rous Shoals,
Of such as pay to be reputed Fools.
Globes stand by Globes, Volumes on Volumes lye,
And Planetary Schemes amuse the Eye.
The Sage, in Velvet Chair, here lolls at Ease,
To promise future Health for present Fees.
Then, as from Tripod, solemn Shams reveals,
And what the Stars know nothing of, foretels.

One asks how soon Panthea may be won,
And longs to feel the Marriage Fetters on.
Others, convinc'd by melancholy Proof,
Enquire when courteous Fates will strike 'em oft.

Some, by what means they may redress the Wrong,
When Fathers the Possession keep too long.
And some would know the Issue of their Cause,
And whether Gold can solder up its Flaws.
Poor pregnant Lais his Advice would have,
To lose by Art what fruitful Nature gave:
And Portia old in Expectation grown,
Laments her barren Curse and begs a Son.
Whilst Iris, his Cosmetick Wash would try,
To make her Bloom revive, and Lovers die.
Some ask for Charms, and others Philters chuse,
To gain Corinna, and their Quartans lose.
Young Hylas, botch'd with Stains too foul to name,
In Cradle here renews his Youthful Frame:
Cloy'd with Desire, and surfeited with Charms,
A Hot-House he prefers to Julia's Arms.
And old Lucullus wou'd th'Arcanum prove,
Of kindling in cold Veins the Sparks of Love:

Bleak Envy these dull Frauds with Pleasure sees;
And wonders at the senseless Mysteries.
In Colon's Voice she thus calls out aloud
On Horoscope environ'd by the Crowd.

Forbear, forbear, thy vain Amusements cease,
Thy Wood-Cocks from their Gins a while release;
And to that dire Misfortune listen well,
Which thou shoud'st fear to know, or I to tell.
'Tis true thou ever wast esteem'd by me
The great Alcides of our Company.
When we with Noble Scorn resolv'd to ease
Our selves from all Parochial Offices;
And to our Wealthier Patients left the Care,
And draggl'd Dignity of Scavenger:
Such Zeal in that Affair thou didst express,
Nought cou'd be equal but the great Success.
Now call to mind thy Gen'rous Prowess past,
Be what thou shou'dst, by thinking what thou wast.
The Faculty of Warwick-Lane Design,
If not to Storm, at least to Undermine:
Their Gates each day Ten thousand Night-cops crowd,
And Mortars utter their Attempts aloud.
If they should once unmask our Mystery,
Each Nurse, ere long, wou'd be as learn'd as We;
Our Art expos'd to ev'ry Vulgar Eye,
And none, in Complaisance to us, would dye.
What if We claim their Right t'Assassinate,
Must they needs turn Apothecaries strait?
Prevent it, Gods! all Stratagems we try
To crowd with new Inhabitants your Sky.

'Tis we who wait the Destinies Command,
To purge the troubled Air, and weed the Land.
And dare the College insolently aim
To equal our Fraternity in Fame?
Then let Crabs Eyes with Pearl for Virtue try,
Or Highgate-Hill with lofty Pindus vie.
So Glow-worms may compare with Titan's Beams,
And Hare-Court Pump with Aganippe's Streams.

Our Manufacturers now they meanly sell,
And their true Value treacherously tell:
Nay, They discover too, (their spight is such,)
That Health, than Crowns more valu'd, costs not much
Whilst we must steer our Conduct by these Rules,
To cheat as Tradesmen or to starve as Fools

At this fam'd Horoscope turn'd pale, and straight
In Silence tumbled from his Chair of State.
The Crowd in great Confusion sought the Door,
And left the Magus fainting on the Floor.
Whilst in his Breast the Fury breath'd a Storm,
Then sought her Cell, and reassum'd her Form.
Thus from the Sore altho' the Insect flies,
It leaves a Brood of Maggots in Disguise.

Officious Squirt in haste forsook the Shop,
To succour the expiring Horoscope.
Oft he essay'd the Magus to restore,
By Salt of Succinum's prevailing Pow'r;
Yet still supine the solid Lumber lay
An Image of scarce animated Clay;

'Till Fates, indulgent when Disasters call,
By Squirt's nice Hand apply'd a Urinal;
The Wight no sooner did the Steam receive,
But rous'd, and bless'd the stale Restorative.
The Springs of Life their former Vigour feel,
Such Zeal he had for that vile Utensil.

So when the Great Pelides, Thetis found,
He knew the Sea-weed Scent, and th'Azure Goddess own'd.

See Dryd. Fal.

in ÆnaÆtna were forg'd the Thunder-bolts which Jove employ'd against the Ambition of the Giants.

CANTO III.

All Night the Sage in Pensive Tumults lay,
Complaining of the slow Approach of Day;
Oft turn'd him round, and strove to think no more
Of what shrill Colon said the Day before.
Cowslips and Poppies o'er his Eyes he spread,
And S--- Works he laid beneath his Head.
But those bless'd Opiats still in vain he tries,
Sleep's gentle Image his Embraces flies.
Tumultuous Cares lay rolling in his Breast,
And thus his anxious Thoughts the Sage exprest.

Oft has this Planet roll'd around the Sun,
Since to consult the Skies I first begun:
Such my Applause, so mighty my Success.
Some granted my Predictions more than Guess.

But, doubtful as I am, I'll entertain
This Faith, There can be no Mistake in Gain.
For the dull World most Honour pay to those
Who on their Understanding most impose.
First Man creates, and then he fears the Elf,
Thus others cheat him not but he himself:
He loaths the Substance and he loves the Show;
You'll ne'er convince a Fool, Himself is so:
He hates Reallities, and hugs the Cheat,
And still the only Pleasure's the Deceit.
So Meteors flatter with a dazling Dye
Which no Existence has, but in the Eye.
At distance Prospects please us, but when near,
We find but desart Rocks, and fleeting Air.
From Stratagem to Stratagem we run,
And he knows most, who latest is undone.

Mankind one Day serene and free appear;
The next, they're cloudy, sullen, and severe:
New Passions, new Opinions still excite,
And what they like at Noon, they leave at Night.
They gain with Labour, what they quit with Ease,
And Health, for want of Change, becomes Disease.
Religion's bright Authority they dare,
And yet are Slaves to Superstitious Fear.
They Counsel others, but themselves Deceive,
And tho' they're Cozen'd still, they still Believe.
So proud of Praise, for That their Ease they slight;
Yet never think the Rabble in the right.
Thus Priests their Pagan Gods profanely mock;
And know that Sacrifice is only Smoke.
They find, if some great Enterprise they view,
Oft more to Folly, than to Prudence due.

Or if some matchless Conduct shou'd appear,
They call the Valour, Heat; the Caution, Fear.
So false their Censure, fickle their Esteem,
This Hour they Worship; and the next Blaspheme.
Tho' honour'd as some God a Heroe shines,
And Valour executes what Skill designs;
Tho' rescu'd Nations their Deliv'rance own,
And Monarchs sit unshaken on a Throne,
Whilst proud Oppressors their vain Hopes give o'er,
And tremble at the Chains They forg'd before;
Yet if th'amazing Issue we survey,
We find that Fame has Wings, and flies away.

Shall I then, who with penetrating Sight
Inspect the Springs that guide each Appetite:
Who with unfathom'd Searches hourly pierce
The dark Recesses of the Universe,
Be aw'd, if puny Emmets wou'd oppress;
Or fear their Fury, or their Name caress?
If all the Fiends that in low Darkness reign,
Be not the Fictions of a sickly Brain,
That Project, the Dispensary they call,
Before the Moon can blunt her Horns, shall fall.

With that, a Glance from mild Aurora's Eyes
Shoots thro' the Chrystal Kingdoms of the Skies;
The Savage Kind in Forests cease to roam,
And Sots o'ercharg'd with nauseous Loads reel home.
Drums, Trumpets, Haut-boys wake the slumbring Pair;
Whilst Bridegroom sighs, and thinks the Bride less fair.
Light's chearful Smiles o'er th'Azure Waste are spread,
And Miss from Inns o'Court bolts our unpaid.

The Sage transported at th'approaching Hour,
Imperiously thrice thunder'd on the Floor;
Officious Squirt that Moment had access,
His Trust was great, his Vigilance no less.
To him thus Horoscope,

My kind Companion in this dire Affair,
Which is more light, since you assume a Share;
Fly with what haste you us'd to do of old,
When Clyster was in danger to be cold:
With Expedition on the Beadle call,
To summon all the Company to th'Hall.

Away the friendly Coadjutor flies,
Swift as from Phyal Steams of Harts-horn rise.
The Magus in the int'rim mumbles o'er
Vile Terms of Art to some Infernal Pow'r,
And draws Mysterious Circles on the Floor.
But from the gloomy Vault no glaring Spright
Ascends, to blast the tender Bloom of Light.
No mystick Sounds from Hell's detested Womb,
In dusky Exhalations upwards come.
And now to raise an Altar He decrees,
To that devouring Harpy call'd Disease.
Then Flow'rs in Canisters he hastes to bring,
The wither'd Product of a blighted Spring.
With cold Solanum from the Pontick Shore,
The Roots of Mandrake and Black Ellebore,
The Griper Senna, and the Puker Rue,
The Sweetner Sassafras are added too;
And on the Structure next he heaps a load
Of Sulphur, Turpentine and Mastick Wood:

Gums, Fossiles too the Pyramid increas'd,
A Mummy next, once Monarch of the East.
Then from the Compter he takes down the File,
And with Prescriptions lights the solemn Pile.

Feebly the Flames on clumsie Wings aspire,
And smoth'ring Fogs of Smoke benight the Fire.
With Sorrow he beheld the sad Portent,
Then to the Hag these Orizons he sent.

Disease! thou ever most propitious Pow'r,
Whose kind Indulgence we discern each Hour;
Thou well canst boast thy num'rous Pedigree
Begot by Sloth, maintain'd by Luxury.
In gilded Palaces thy Prowess reigns
But flies the humble Sheds of Cottage Swains.
To You such Might and Energy belong,
You nip the Blooming, and unnerve the Strong.
The Purple Conqueror in Chains you bind,
And are to us your Vassals only kind.

If, in return, all Diligence we pay
To fix your Empire, and confirm your Sway,
Far as the weekly Bills can reach around,
From Kent-street end to fam'd St. Giles's-Pound;
Behold this poor Libation with a Smile,
And let auspicious Light break through the Pile.

He spoke; and on the Pyramid he laid
Bay-Leaves and Vipers Hearts, and thus he said;
As These consume in this mysterious Fire,
So let the curs'd Dispensary expire;

And as Those crackle in the Flames, and die,
So let its Vessels burst, and Glasses fly.
But a sinister Cricket strait was heard,
The Altar fell, the Off'ring disappear'd.
As the fam'd Wight the Omen did regret,
Squirt brought the News the Company was met.

Nigh where Fleet-Ditch descends in sable Streams,
To wash his sooty Naiads in the Thames;
There stands a Structure on a rising Hill
Where Tyro's take their Freedom out to kill.
Some Pictures in these dreadful Shambles tell,
How by the Delian God, the Pithon fell;
And how Medea did the Philter brew,
That cou'd in Æson's Veins young Force renew.
How mournful, Myrrha for her Crimes appears,
And heals hysterick Matrons still with Tears.
How Mentha and Althea, Nymphs no more,
Revive in sacred Plants, and Health restore.
How sanguine Swains their am'rous Hours repent,
When Pleasure's past, and Pains are permanent;
And how frail Nymphs, oft by Abortion, aim
To lose a Substance, to preserve a Name.

Soon as each Member in his Rank was plac'd,
Th'Assembly Diasenna thus address'd.

My kind Confederates, if my poor Intent,
As 'tis sincere, had been but prevalent,
We here had met on some more safe Design,
And on no other Bus'ness but to Dine;

The Faculty had still maintain'd their Sway,
And Int'rest then had bid us but obey;
This only Emulation we had known,
Who best cou'd fill his Purse, and thin the Town.
But now from gath'ring Clouds Destruction pours,
Which ruins with mad Rage our Halcyon Hours:
Mists from black Jealousies the Tempest form,
Whilst late Divisions reinforce the Storm.
Know, when these Feuds, like those at Law, are past,
The Winners will be Losers at the last.
Like Heroes in Sea-Fights we seek Renown,
To fire some Hostile Ship, we burn our own.
Who-e'er throws Dust against the Wind, descries
He throws it, in effect, but in his Eyes.
That Juggler with another's Slight will show,
But teaches how the World his own may know.

Thrice happy were those golden Days of old,
When dear as Burgundy, Ptisans were sold;
When Patients chose to die with better Will,
Than breathe, and pay th'Apothecary's Bill.
And cheaper than for our Assistance call,
Might go to Aix or Bourbon, Spring and Fall.

Then Priests increas'd, and Pity decay'd,
Churchmen the Church's Purity betray'd;
Their Lives and Doctrine, Slaves and Atheists made.
The Laws were but the hireling Judge's Sense;
Juries were sway'd by venal Evidence.
Fools were promoted to the Council-Board,
Tools to the Bench, and Bullies to the Sword.

Pensions in Private were the Senate's Aim;
And Patriots for a Place abandon'd Fame.

But now no influencing Art remains,
For S---rs has the Seal and Nassau reigns.
And we, in spight of our Resolves, must bow,
And suffer by a Reformation too.
For now late Jars our Practices detect,
And Mines, when once discover'd, lose Effect.
Dissentions, like small Streams, are first begun,
Scarce seen they rise, but gather as they run:
So Lines that from their Parallel decline,
More they proceed, the more they still dis-join,
'Tis therefore my Advice, in haste we send,
And beg the Faculty to be our Friend;
Send swarms of Patients, and our Quarrels end
So awful Beadles, if the Vagrant treat,
Strait turn familiar, and their Fasces quit.
In vain we but contend, that Planet's Pow'r
Those Vapours can disperse It rais'd before.

As He prepar'd the Mischief to recite,
Keen Colorynthis paus'd and foam'd with Spight,
Sow'r Ferments on his shining Surface swim,
Work up to Froth and bubble o'er the Brim:
Not Beauties fret so much if Freckles come,
Or Nose shou'd redden in the Drawing-Room;
Or Lovers that mistake th'appointed Hour,
Or in the lucky Minute want the Pow'r.

Thus He—Thou Scandal of great Pæan's Art,
At thy Approach, the Springs of Nature start,

The Nerves unbrace: Nay, at the Sight of thee,
A Scratch turns Cancer, Itch a Leprosie.
Cou'dst thou propose, That we, the Friends o'Fates,
Who fill Church-yards, and who unpeople States,
Who baffle Nature, and dispose of Lives,
Whilst Russel, as we please, or starves, or thrives,
Shou'd e'er submit to their despotick Will,
Who out o'Consultation scarce can kill?
The tow'ring Alps shall sooner sink to Vales,
And Leaches, in our Glasses, swell to Whales;
Or Norwich trade in Implements of Steel,
And Bromingham in Stuffs and Druggets deal!
Allys at Wapping furnish us new Modes,
And Monmouth street, Versailles with Riding-hoods;
The Sick to th'Hundreds in pale Throngs repair,
And change the Gravel-Pits for Kentish Air.
Our Properties must on our Arms depend;
'Tis next to Conquer, bravely to Defend.
'Tis to the Vulgar, Death too harsh appears;
The Ill we feel is only in our Fears.

To Die, is Landing on some silent Shoar,
Where Billows never break, nor Tempests roar:
E'er well we feel the friendly Stroke, 'tis o'er.
The Wise thro' Thought th'Insults of Death defy;
The Fools, thro' bless'd Insensibility.
'Tis what the Guilty fear, the Pious crave;
Sought by the Wretch, and vanquish'd by the Brave.
It eases Lovers, sets the Captive free;
And, tho' a Tyrant, offers Liberty.

Sound but to Arms, the Foe shall soon confess
Our Force encreases, as our Funds grow less;
And what requir'd such Industry to raise,
We'll scatter into nothing as we please.
Thus they'll acknowledge, to Annihilate
Shews no less wond'rous Pow'r than to Create.
We'll raise our num'rous Cohorts and oppose
The feeble Forces of our pigmy Foes;
Legions of Quacks shall join us on the Place,
From Great Kirleus down to Doctor Case.
Tho' such vile Rubbish sink, yet we shall rise;
Directors still secure the greatest Prize.
Such poor Supports serve only like a Stay;
The Tree once fix'd, its Rest is torn away.

So Patriots, in the time of Peace and Ease,
Forget the Fury of the late Disease:
On Dangers past, serenely think no more;
And curse the Hand that heal'd the Wound before.

Arm therefore, gallant Friends, 'tis Honour's Call,
Or let us boldly Fight, or bravely Fall.

To this the Session seem'd to give Consent,
Much lik'd the War, but dreaded much th'Event.
At length, the growing Diff'rence to compose,
Two Brothers, nam'd Ascarides, arose.
Both had the Volubility of Tongue,
In Meaning faint, but in Opinion strong.
To speak they both assum'd a like Pretence,
The Elder gain'd his just Pre-eminence;

Thus he: 'Tis true, when Privilege and Right
Are once invaded, Honour bids us Fight.
But e'er we once engage in Honour's Cause,
First know what Honour is, and whence it was.

Scorn'd by the Base, 'tis courted by the Brave,
The Heroe's Tyrant, and the Coward's Slave.
Born in the noisie Camp, it lives on Air;
And both exists by Hope and by Despair.
Angry when e'er a Moment's Ease we gain,
And reconcil'd at our Returns of Pain.
It lives when in Death's Arms the Heroe lies,
But when his Safety he consults, it dies.
Bigotted to this Idol, we disclaim
Rest, Health, and Fase, for nothing but a Name.

Then let us, to the Field before we move,
Know, if the Gods our Enterprize approve.
Suppose th'unthinking Faculty unvail
What we, thro' wiser Conduct, wou'd conceal;
Is't Reason we shou'd quarrel with the Glass
That shews the monstrous Features of our Face?
Or grant some grave Pretenders have of late
Thought fit an Innovation to create;
Soon they'll repent what rashly they begun;
Tho' Projects please, Projectors are undone.
All Novelties must this Success expect,
When good our Envy; and when bad, Neglect:
If Reason cou'd direct, e'er now each Gate
Had born some Trophy of Triumphal State.
Temples had told how Greece and Belgia owe
Troy and Namur to Jove and to Nassau.

Then since no Veneration is allow'd,
Or to the real, or th'appearing Good;
The Project that we vainly apprehend,
Must, as it blindly rose, as vilely end.
Some Members of the Faculty there are,
Who Int'rest prudently to Oaths prefer.
Our Friendship with feign'd Airs they poorly court,
And boast their Politicks are our Support.
Them we'll consult about this Enterprize,
And boldly Execute what they Advise.

But from below (while such Resolves they took)
Some Aurum Fulminans the Fabrick shook.
The Champions, daunted at the Crack, retreat,
Regard their Safety, and their Rage forget.

So when at Bathos Earth's big Offspring strove
To scale the Skies, and wage a War with Jove;
Soon as the Ass of old Silenus bray'd,
The trembling Rebels in Confusion fled.

Medicines made up there, for the use of the Poor.

See the Allusion. Theoc. Pharm.

Apothecaries Hall.

See Ov. Met.

The Room the Apothecaries meet in, is over the Labaratory.

CANTO IV.

Not far from that frequented Theater,
Where wandring Punks each Night at Five repair;
Where Purple Emperors in Buskins tread,
And rule imaginary Worlds for Bread;
Where Bently, by Old Writers wealthy grew,
And Briscoe lately was undone by New:
There triumphs a Physician of Renown,
To none, but such as rust in Health, unknown.
None e'er was plac'd more fitly to impart
His known Experience, and his healing Art.
When Bur---ss deafens all the list ning Press
With Peals of most Seraphick Emptiness;
Or when Mysterious F---n mounts on high,
To preach his Parish to a Lethargy:
This Æsculapius waits hard by, to ease
The Martyrs of such Christian Cruelties.

Long has this darling Quarter of the Town,
For Lewdness, Wit, and Gallantry been known.
All Sorts meet here, of whatsoe'er Degree,
To blend and justle into Harmony.
The Criticks each advent'rous Author scan,
And praise or censure as They like the Man.
The Weeds of Writings for the Flowers They cull;
So nicely Tasteless, so correctly Dull!
The Politicians of Parnassus prate,
And Poets canvass the Affairs of State;
The Cits ne'er talk of Trade and Stock, but tell
How Virgil writ, how bravely Turnus fell.
The Country-Dames drive to Hippolito's,
First find a Spark, and after lose a Nose.
The Lawyer for Lac'd Coat the Robe does quit,
He grows a Mad-man, and then turns a Wit.
And in the Cloister pensive Strephon waits,
'Till Chloe's Hackney comes, and then retreats;
And if th'ungenerous Nymph a Shaft lets fly
More fatally than from a sparkling Eye,
Mirmillo, that fam'd Opifer, is nigh.

The trading Tribe oft thither throng to Dine,
And want of Elbow-room supply in Wine.
Cloy'd with Variety they surfeit there,
Whilst the wan Patients on thin Gruel fare.
'Twas here the Champions of the Party met,
Of their Heroick Enterprize to treat.
Each Heroe a tremendous Air put on,
And stern Mirmillo in these Words begun:

'Tis with Concern, my Friends, I meet you here;
No Grievance you can know, but I must share.
'Tis plain my Int'rest you've advanc'd so long,
Each Fee, tho' I was mute wou'd find a Tongue.
And in return, tho' I have strove to rend
Those Statutes which on Oath I should defend;
Such Arts are Trifles to a gen'rous Mind,
Great Services as great Returns shou'd find.
And you'll perceive, this Hand, when Glory calls,
Can brandish Arms as well as Urinals.

Oxford and all her passing Bells can tell,
By this Right Arm, what mighty Numbers fell.
Whilst others meanly ask'd whole Months to slay,
I oft dispatch'd the Patient in a Day:
With Pen in Hand I push'd to that degree,
I scarce had left a Wretch to give a Fee.
Some fell by Laudanum, and some by Steel,
And Death in Ambush lay in ev'ry Pill.
For save or slay, this Privilege we claim,
Tho' Credit suffers, the Reward's the same.

What tho' the Art of Healing we pretend,
He that designs it least, is most a Friend.
Into the Right we err and must confess
To Oversights we often owe Success.
Thus Bessus got the Battel in the Play,
His glorious Cowardise restor'd the Day.
So the fam'd Grecian Piece ow'd its Desert
To Chance, and not the labour'd Stroaks of Art.

Physicians, if they're wise should never think
Of any Arms but such as Pen and Ink:
But th'Enemy, at their Expence, shall find,
When Honour calls, I'll scorn to stay behind.

He said; and seal'd th'Engagement with a Kiss,
Which was return'd by Younger Askaris;
Who thus advanc'd: Each Word Sir, you impart,
Has something killing in it, like your Art.
How much we to your boundless Friendship owe,
Our Files can speak, and your Prescriptions show.
Your Ink descends in such excessive Show'rs,
Tis plain, you can regard no Health but ours.
Whilst poor Pretenders puzzle o'er a Case,
You but appear, and give the Coup de Grace.
O that near Xanthus Banks you had but dwelt,
When Ilium first Achaian Fury felt,
The horned River then had curs'd in vain
Young Peleus' Arm, that choak'd his Stream with Slain.
No Trophies you had left for Greeks to raise,
Their Ten Years Toil, you'd finish'd in Ten Days.
Fate smiles on your Attempts, and when you list,
In vain the Cowards fly, or Brave resist.
Then let us Arm, we need not fear Success,
No Labours are too hard for Hercules.
Our military Ensigns we'll display;
Conquest pursues, where Courage leads the Way.

To this Design shrill Querpo did agree,
A zealous Member of the Faculty;

His Sire's pretended pious Steps he treads,
And where the Doctor fails, the Saint succeeds.
A Conventicle flesh'd his greener Years,
And his full Age the righteous Rancour shares.
Thus Boys hatch Game-Eggs under Birds o'Prey,
To make the Fowl more furious for the Fray.

Slow Carus next discover'd his Intent,
With painful Pauses mutt'ring what he meant.
His Sparks of Life in spight of Druggs retreat,
So cold, that only Calentures can heat.
In his chill Veins the sluggish Puddle flows,
And loads with lazy Fogs his sable Brows.
Legions of Lunaticks about him press,
His Province is lost Reason to redress.
So when Perfumes their fragrant Scent give o'er,
Nought can their Odour, like a Jakes, restore.
When for Advice the Vulgar throng, he's found
With lumber of vile Books besieg'd around.
The gazing Throng acknowledge their Surprize,
And deaf to Reason still consult their Eyes.
Well he perceives the World will often find,
To catch the Eye is to convince the Mind.
Thus a weak State, by wise Distrust enclines
To num'rous Stores, and Strength in Magazines.
So Fools are always most profuse of Words,
And Cowards never fail of longest Swords.
Abandon'd Authors here a Refuge meet,
And from the World, to Dust and Worms retreat.
Here Dregs and Sediment of Auctions reign,
Refuse of Fairs, and Gleanings of Duck-Lane.

And up these Walls much Gothick Lumber climbs,
With Swiss Philosophy, and Runick Rhimes.
Hither, retriev'd from Cooks and Grocers, come
M--- Works entire, and endless Reams of Bl---m.
Where would the long-neglected C---s fly,
If bounteous Carus shou'd refuse to buy?
But each vile Scribler's happy on this score,
He'll find some Carus still to read him o're.

Nor must we the obsequious Umbra spare,
Who, soft by Nature, yet declar'd for War.
But when some Rival Pow'r invades a Right,
Flies set on Flies, and Turtles Turtles fight.
Else courteous Umbra to the last had been
Demurely meek insipidly serene.
With Him, the Present still some Virtues have,
The Vain are sprightly, and the Stupid, grave:
The Slothful, negligent; the Foppish, neat;
The Lewd are airy; and the Sly, discreet.
A Wren an Eagle, a Baboon a Beau;
C--- a Lycurgus, and a Phocion, R---.

Heroick Ardour now th'Assembly warms,
Each Combatant breaths nothing but Alarms.
For Future Glory, while the Scheme is laid,
Fam'd Horoscope thus offers to dissuade;

Since of each Enterprize th'Event's unknown,
We'll quit the Sword, and hearken to the Gown.

Nigh lives Vagellius, one reputed long
For Strength of Lungs, and Pliancy of Tongue.
For Fees, to any Form he moulds a Cause,
The Worst has Merits, and the Best has Flaws,
Five Guinea's make a Criminal to Day,
And ten to Morrow wipe the Stain away.
Whatever he affims is undeny'd,
Milo's the Lecher, Clodius th'Homicide.
Cato pernicious Cataline a Saint,
Or---d suspected, D---b innocent.
To Law then Friends, for 'tis by Fate decreed,
Vagellius, and our Mony, shall succeed.
Know; when I first invok'd Disease by Charms
To prove propitious to our future Arms;
Ill Omens did the Sacrifice attend,
Nor wou'd the Sybil from her Grott ascend.

As Horoscope urg'd farther to be heard,
He thus was interrupted by a Bard;

In vain your Magick Mysteries you use,
Such Sounds the Sybil's sacred Ears abuse.
These Lines the pale Divinity shall raise,
Such is the Pow'r of Sound; and Force of Lays.

Arms meet with Arms, Fauchions with Fauchions clash,
And sparks of Fire struck out from Armour flash.
Thick Clouds of Dust contending Warriors raise,
And hideous War o'er all the Region brays.
Some raging ran with huge Herculean Clubs,
Some massy Balls of Brass, some mighty Tubs
Of Cynders bore.—

Naked and half-burnt Hills with hideous Wreck
Affright the Skies, and fry the Ocean's Back.

As he went rumbling on, the Fury strait
Crawl'd in, her Limbs cou'd scarce support her Weight.
A rufull Rag her meager Forehead bound
And faintly her furr'd Lips these Accents sound.

Mortal, how dar'st thou with such Lines address
My awful Seat, and trouble my Recess?
In Essex Marshy Hundreds is a Cell,
Where lazy Fogs, and drisling Vapours dwell:
Thither raw Damps on drooping Wings repair,
And shiv'ring Quartans shake the sickly Air.
There, when fatigu'd, some silent Hours I pass,
And substitute Physicians in my place.
Then dare not, for the future, once rehearse
The Dissonance of such untuneful Verse.
But in your Lines let Energy be found,
And learn to rise in Sense, and sink in Sound.
Harsh Words, tho' pertinent, uncouth appear,
None please the Fancy who offend the Ear.
In Sense and Numbers if you wou'd excel,
Read W---, consider D---n well.
In one, what vig'rous Turns of Fancy shine,
In th'other, Syrens warble in each Line.
If D---'s sprightly Muse but touch the Lyre,
The Smiles and Graces melt in soft Desire,
And little Loves confess their am'rous Fire.
The gentle Isis claims the Ivy Crown,
To bind th'immortal Brows of A---n.

As tuneful C---ve tries his rural Strains,
Pan quits the Woods, the list'ning Fawns the Plains;
And Philomel, in Notes like his, complains.
And Britain, since Pausanias was writ,
Knows Spartan Virtue, and Athenian Wit.
When St--- paints the Godlike Acts of Kings,
Or, what Apollo dictates, P--- sings:
The Banks of Rhine a pleas'd Attention show,
And Silver Sequana forgets to flow.

Such just Examples carefully read o'er,
Slide without falling, without straining, soar.
Oft tho' your Stroaks surprize, you shou'd not chuse
A Theme so mighty for a Virgin Muse.
Long did Apelles his Fam'd Piece decline,
His Alexander was his last Design.
'Tis M---ue's rich Vein alone must prove,
None but a Phidias shou'd attempt a Jove.

The Fury paus'd 'till with a frightful Sound
A rising Whirlwind burst th'unhallow'd Ground.
Then she—The Deity we Fortune call,
Tho' distant, rules and influences all
Strait for her Favour to her Court repair,
Important Embassies ask Wings of Air.

Each wond'ring stood, but Horoscope's great Soul
That Dangers ne'er alarm, nor Doubts controul;
Rais'd on the Pinions of the bounding Wind,
Out-flew the Rack, and left the Hours behind.

The Ev'ning now with Blushes warms the Air,
The Steer resigns the Yoke, the Hind his Care.
The Clouds above with golden Edgings glow,
And falling Dews refresh the Earth below.
The Bat with sooty Wings flits thro' the Grove,
The Reeds scarce rustle, nor the Aspine move,
And all the feather'd Folks forbear their Lays of love.
Thro' the transparent Region of the Skies,
Swift as a Wish the Missionary flies.
With Wonder he surveys the upper Air,
And the gay gilded Meteors sporting there.
How lambent Jellies kind'ling in the Night,
Shoot thro' the Æther in a Trail of Light,
How rising Steams in th'azure Fluid blend,
Or fleet in Clouds, or in soft Showrs descend;
Or if the stubborn Rage of Cold prevail,
In Flakes they fly, or fall in moulded Hail.
How Hony Dews embalm the fragrant Morn,
And the fair Oak with luscious Sweats adorn.
How Heat and Moisture mingle in a Mass,
Or belch in Thunder, or in Lightning blaze.
Why nimble Coruscations strike the Eye,
And bold Tornado's bluster in the Sky.
Why a prolifick Aura upwards tends,
Ferments, and in a living Show'r descends.
How Vapours hanging on the tow'ring Hills
In Breezes sigh, or weep in warbling Rills
Whence Infant Winds their tender Pinions try,
And River Gods their thirsty Urns supply.

The wond'ring Sage pursues his airy Flight,
And braves the chill unwholsom Damps of Night;
He views the Tracts where Luminaries rove,
To settle Seasons here, and Fates above.
The bleak Arcturus still forbid the Seas,
The stormy Kidds, the weeping Hyades:
The shining Lyre with Strains attracting more
Heav'n's glitt'ring Mansions now, than Hell's before.
Glad Cassiopeia circling in the Sky,
And each bright Churchil of the Galaxy.

Aurora on Etesian Breezes born,
With blushing Lips breaths out the sprightly Morn;
Each Flow'r in Dew their short-liv'd Empire weeeps,
And Cynthia with her lov'd Endymion sleeps.
As thro' the Gloom the Magus cuts his Way,
Imperfect Objects tell the doubtful Day.
Dim he discerns Majestick Atlas rise,
And bend beneath the Burthen of the Skies.
His tow'ring Brows aloft no Tempests know,
Whilst Light'ning flies, and Thunder rolls below.

Distant from hence, beyond a Waste of Plains,
Proud Teneriff his Giant Brother reigns;
With breathing Fire his pitchy Nostrils glow,
As from his Sides he shakes the fleecy Snow.
Around this hoary Prince, from wat'ry Beds,
His Subject Islands raise their verdant Heads;
The Waves so gently wash each rising Hill
The Land seems floating, and the Ocean still.

Eternal Spring with smiling Verdure here
Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful Year.
From Crystal Rocks transparent Riv'lets flow,
The Tub'rose ever breathes, and Violets blow.
The Vine undress'd her swelling Clusters bears,
The lab'ring Hind, the mellow Olive cheers;
Blossoms and Fruit at once the Citron shows,
And as she pays, discovers still she owes.
The Orange to the Sun her Pride displays,
And gilds her flagrant Apples with his Rays.
No Blasts e'er discompose the peaceful Sky,
The Springs but murmur, and the Winds but sigh,
The tuneful Swans on gliding Rivers float,
And warbling Dirges, die on ev'ry Note.
Where Flora treads her Zephyr Garlands flings,
And scatters Odours from his Purple Wings;
Whilst Birds from Woodbine Bow'rs and Jesmin Groves
Chaunt their glad Nuptials, and unenvy'd Loves.
Mild Seasons, rising Hills, and silent Dales,
Cool Grotto's, Silver Brooks, and flow'ry Vales,
Groves fill'd with balmy Shrubs in pomp appear,
And scent with Gales of Sweets the circling Year.

These happy Isles, where endless Pleasures wait,
Are stil'd by tuneful Bards—The Fortunate.
On high, where no hoarse Winds nor Clouds resort,
The hoodwink'd Goddess keeps her partial Court.
Upon a Wheel of Amethyst she sits,
Gives and resumes, and smiles and frowns by fits.

In this still Labyrinth, around her lye
Spells Philters, Globes, and Schemes of Palmistry:
A Sigil in this Hand the Gypsie bears,
In th'other a prophetick Sive and Sheers.

The Dame by Divination knew that soon
The Magus wou'd appear—and then begun
Hail, sacred Seer! thy Embassie I know,
Wars must ensue, the Fates will have it so.
Dread Feats shall follow, and Disasters great,
Pills charge on Pills, and Bolus Bolus meet:
Both Sides shall conquer, and yet Both shall fall;
The Mortar now, and then the Urinal.

To thee alone my Influence I owe;
Where Nature has deny'd, my Favours flow.
'Tis I that give (so mighty is my Pow'r)
Faith to the Jew, Complexion to the Moor.
I am the Wretch's Wish, the Rook's Pretence,
The Sluggard's Ease, the Coxcomb's Providence.
Sir Scrape-Quill, once a supple smiling Slave,
Looks lofty now, and insolently Grave;
Builds, Settles, Purchases, and has each Hour
Caps from the Rich, and Curses from the Poor.
Spadillio, that at Table serv'd o'late,
Drinks rich Tockay himself, and eats in Plate;
Has Levees, Villas, Mistresses in store,
And owns the Racers which he rubb'd before.

Souls heav'nly born my faithless Boons defy;
The Brave is to himself a Deity.

Tho' bless'd Astrea's gone, some Soil remains
Where Fortune is the Slave, and Merit reigns.

The Tyber boasts his Julian Progeny,
Thames his Nassau, the Nyle his Ptolomy,
Iberia, yet for future Sway design'd,
Shall, for a H---, a greater M--- find.
Thus Ariadne in proud Triumph rode,
She lost a Heroe, and she found a God.

See Hone, Il.

See the Imitation Hor. Sat. the 3d.

See Hor. B. 2. Ep. 1. Plin. Plut. Cir. Ep. Val. Max.

Orpheus's Harp made a Constellation.

See Manil.

Wall.

This Stone reckon'd fortunate; see the Hist. of Nat. Magick.

See the Allusion, Lucan.

See Steph.

Theseus.

Bacchus.

CANTO V.

When the still Night, with peacefu Poppies crown'd,
Had spread her shady Pinions o'er the Ground;
And slumb'ring Chiefs of painted Triumphs dream,
While Groves and Streams are the soft Virgin's Theme.
The Surges gently dash against the Shoar,
Flocks quit the Plains, and Gally-Slaves the Oar.
Sleep shakes its downy Wings o'er mortal Eyes,
Mirmillo is the only Wretch it flies.
He finds no Respite from his anxious Grief,
Then seeks, from this Soliloquy, Relief.

Long have I reign'd unrival'd in the Town,
Oppress'd with Fees and deafen'd with Renown.

None e'er cou'd die with due Solemnity,
Unless his Pass-port first was sign'd by Me.
My arbitrary Bounty's undeny'd;
I give Reversions, and for Heirs provide.
None cou'd the tedious Nuptial State support;
But I, to make it easie, make it short.
I set the discontented Matrons free,
And ransom Husbands from Captivity.
Shall One of such Importance then engage
In noisie Riot, and in Civil Rage?
No, I'll endeavour strait a Peace, and so
Preserve my Character, and Person too.

But Discord, that still haunts with hideous Mien
Those dire Abodes where Hymen once has been,
O'er-heard Mirmillo's Anguish, then begun
In peevish Accents to express her own,

Have I so often banish'd lazy Peace
From her dark Solitude, and lov'd Recess?
Have I made S---th and Sh---ck disagree,
And puzzle Truth with learn'd Obscurity?
And does my faithful F---son profess
His Ardour still for Animosities?
Have I, Britannia's Safety to insure,
Expos'd her naked, to be more secure?
Have I made Parties opposite, unite,
In monstrous Leagues of amicable Spight
To curse their Country, whilst the common Cry
Is Freedom, but their Aim, the Ministry?
And shall a Dastard's Cowardise prevent
The War, so long I've labour'd to foment?

No, 'tis resolv'd, he either shall comply,
Or I'll renounce my wan Divinity.

With that, the Hag approach'd Mirmillo's Bed,
And taking Querpo's meager Shape, She said;

At Noon of Night I hasten, to dispel
Those Tumults in your pensive Bosom dwell.
I dreamt but now I heard your heaving Sighs,
Nay, saw the Tears debating in your Eyes.
O that 'twere but a Dream! But Threats I find
Low'r in your Looks, and rankle in your Mind.
Speak, whence it is this late Disorder flows,
That shakes your Soul, and troubles your Repose.
Mistakes in Practice scarce cou'd give you Pain,
Too well you know the Dead will ne'er complain.

What Looks discover, said the Homicide,
Wou'd be a fruitless Industry to hide.
My Safety first I must consult, and then
I'll serve our suff'ring Party with my Pen.

All shou'd, reply'd the Hag, their Talent learn;
The most attempting oft the least discern.
Let P--- speak, and V---k write,
Soft Acon court, and rough Cæcinna fight:
Such must succeed; but when th'Enervate aim
Beyond their Force, they still contend for Shame,
Had C--- printed nothing of his own.
He had not been the S---fold o'the Town.
Asses and Owls, unseen, their Kind betray,
If these attempt to Hoot, or those to Bray.

Had W--- never aim'd in Verse to please,
We had not rank'd him with our Ogilbys.
Still Censures will on dull Pretenders fall,
A Codrus shou'd expect a Juvenal.
Ill Lines, but like ill Paintings, are allow'd,
To set off, and to recommend the good.
So Diamonds take a Lustre from their Foyle;
And to a B---ly 'tis, we owe a B---le.

Consider well the Talent you possess,
To strive to make it more would make it less;
And recollect what Gratitude is due,
To those whose Party you abandon now.
To them you owe your odd Magnificence
But to your Stars your Magazine of Sense.
Haspt in a Tombril, aukward have you shin'd
With one fat Slave before, and none behind.
Then haste and join your true intrepid Friends,
Success on Vigour and Dispatch depends.

Lab'ring in Doubts Mirmillo stood, then said,
'Tis hard to undertake, if Gain disswade;
What Fool for noysie Feuds large Fees wou'd leave?
Ten Harvests more, wou'd all I wish for give.

True Man, reply'd the Elf; by Choice diseas'd,
Ever contriving Pain, and never pleas'd.
A present Good they slight, an absent chuse,
And what they have, for what they have not, lose.
False Prospects all their true Delights destroy,
Resolv'd to want, yet lab'ring to enjoy.

In restless Hurries thoughtlesly they live,
At Substance oft unmov'd, for Shadows grieve.
Children at Toys, as Men at Titles aim;
And in effect both covet but the same.
This Philip's Son prov'd in revolving Years;
And first for Rattles, then for Worlds shed Tears.

The Fury spoke, then in a moment fir'd
The Horoe's Breast with Tempests, and retir'd.

In boding Dreams Mirmillo spent the Night,
And frightful Phantoms danc'd before his Sight,
Till the pale Pleiads clos'd their Eyes of Light.
At length gay Morn glows in the Eastern Skies,
The Larks in Raptures thro' the Æther rise,
The Azure Mists scud o'er the dewy Lawns,
The Chaunter at his early Matins yawns,
The Amaranth opes its Leaves, the Lys its Bells,
And Progne her Complaint of Tereus tells.

As bold Mirmillo the gray Dawn descries,
Arm'd Cap-a-pe, where Honour calls, he flies,
And finds the Legions planted at their Post;
Where mighty Querpo fill'd the Eye the most.
His Arms were made, if we may credit Fame,
By Mulciber, the Mayor of Bromingham.
Of temper'd Stibium the bright Shield was cast,
And yet the Work the Metal far surpass'd.

A Foliage of the Vulnerary Leaves,
Grav'd round the Brim, the wond'ring Sight deceives.
Around the Center Fate's bright Trophies lay,
Probes, Saws, Incision Knives, and Tools to slay.
Embost upon the Field, a Battel stood
Of Leeches spouting Hemorrhoidal Blood.
The Artist too express'd the solemn State
Of grave Physicians at a Consult met;
About each Symptom how they disagree,
But how unanimous in case of Fee.
Whilst each Assassin his learn'd Collegue tires
With learn'd Impertinence, the Sick expires.

Beneath this Blazing Orb bright Querpo shone,
Himself an Atlas, and his Shield a Moon.
A Pestle for his Truncheon led the Van,
And his high Helmet was a Close-stool Pan.
His Crest an Ibis, brandishing her Beak,
And winding in loose Folds her spiral Neck.
This, when the Young Querpoïdes beheld
His Face in Nurse's Breast the Boy conceal'd;
Then peept, and with th'effulgent Helm wou'd play,
And as the Monster gap'd wou'd shrink away.
Thus sometimes Joy prevail'd, and sometimes Fear;
And Tears and Smiles alternate Passions were.

As Querpo tow'ring stood in Martial Might,
Pacifick Carus sparkled on the Right.

An Oran Outang o'er his Shoulders hung,
His Plume confess'd the Capon whence it sprung.
His motly Mail scarce cou'd the Heroe bear,
Haranguing thus the Tribunes of the War.

Fam'd Chiefs,
For present Triumphs born, design'd for more,
Your Virtue I admire, your Valour more.
If Battel be resolv'd. you'll find this Hand
Can deal out Destiny, and Fate command.
Our Foes in Throngs shall hide the Crimson Plain,
And their Apollo interpose in vain.
Tho' Gods themselves engage, a Diamed
With Ease cou'd show a Deity can bleed.

But War's rough Trade shou'd be by Fools profest,
The truest Rubbish fills a Trench the best.
Let Quinsies throttle, and the Quartan shake,
Or Dropsies drown, and Gout and Colicks rack;
Let Sword and Pestilence lay waste, whilst we
Wage bloodless Wars, and fight in Theory.
Who wants not Merit needs not arm for Fame;
The Dead I raise my Chivalry proclaim,
Diseases baffled, and lost Health restor'd,
In Fame's bright List my Victories record.
More Lives from me their Preservation own,
Than Lovers lose if Fair Cornelia frown.

Your Cures, shrill Querpo cry'd, aloud you tell,
But wisely your Miscarriages conceal.

Zeno, a Priest, in Samothrace of old,
Thus reason'd with Philopidas the bold;
Immortal Gods you own, but think 'em blind
To what concerns the State of Human Kind.
Either they hear not, or regard not Pray'r,
That argues want of Pow'r, and This of Care.
Allow that Wisdom infinite must know;
Pow'r infinite must act. I grant it so.
Haste strait to Neptune's Fane, survey with Zeal
The Walls. What then? reply'd the Infidel.
Observe those num'rous Throngs in Effigy.
The Gods have sav'd from the devouring Sea.
'Tis true, their Pictures that escap'd you keep,
But where are Theirs that perish'd in the Deep?

Vaunt now no more the Triumph of your Skill,
But, tho' unfeed, exert your Arm, and kill.
Our Scouts have learn'd the Posture of the Foe;
In War, Surprizes surest Conduct show.

But Fame, that neither good nor bad conceals,
That P---k's Worth, and O---'s Valour tells;
How Truth in B---, how in G---sh reigns
Varro's Magnificence with Maro's Strains;
But how at Church and Bar all gape and stretch
If W--- plead, or S--- or O---ly preach,
On nimble Wings to Warwick-Lane repairs,
And what the Enemy intends, declares.
Confusion in each Countenance appear'd,
A Council's call'd, and Stentor first was heard;
His lab'ring Lungs the throng'd Prætorium rent,
Addressing thus the passive President.

Machaon, whose Experience we adore,
Great as your matchless Merits, is your Pow'r.
At your Approach, the baffled Tyrant Death
Breaks his keen Shafts, and grinds his clashing Teeth.
To you we leave the Conduct of the Day;
What you command, your Vassals must obey.
If this dread Enterprize you wou'd decline,
We'll send to treat, and stifle the Design.
But if my Arguments had force, we'd try
To humble our audacious Foes, or die.
Our Spight, they'll find, to their Advantage leans,
The End is good, no matter for the Means.
So modern Casuists their Talents try,
Uprightly for the sake of Truth to lye.

He had not finish'd, 'till th'Out-guards descry'd
Bright Columns move in formidable Pride.
The passing Pomp so dazzled from afar,
It seem'd a Triumph, rather than a War.
Tho' wide the Front, tho' gross the Phalanx grew,
It look'd less dreadful as it nearer drew.

The adverse Host for Action strait prepare;
All eager to unviel the Face of War.
Their Chiefs lace on their Helms, and take the Field,
And to their trusty Squires resign their Shield:
To paint each Knight their Ardour and Alarms,
Wou'd ask the Muse that sung the Frogs in Arms.

And now the Signal summons to the Fray;
Mock Falchions flash, and paltry Ensigns play.

Their Patron God his silver Bow-string twangs;
Tough Harness rustless, and bold Armour clangs.
The piercing Causticks ply their spightful Pow'r;
Emeticks ranch, and keen Catharticks scour.
The deadly Drugs in double Doses fly;
And Pestles peal a martial Symphony.

Now from their levell'd Syringes they pour
The liquid Volly of a missive Show'r.
Not Storms of Sleet, which o'er the Baltick drive,
Push'd on by Northern Gusts, such Horror give.
Like Spouts in Southern Seas the Deluge broke,
And Numbers sunk beneath th'impetuous Stroke.

So when Leviathans dispute the Reign
And uncontroll'd Dominion of the Main;
From the rent Rocks whole Coral Groves are torn,
And Isles of Sea-weed on the Waves are born.
Such watry Stores from their spread Nostrils fly,
'Tis doubtful which is Sea, and which is Sky.

And now the stagg'ring Braves, led by Despair,
Advance, and to return the Charge, prepare.
Each seizes for his Shield a spacious Scale,
And the Brass Weights fly thick as Show'rs of Hail.
Whole Heaps of Warriors welter on the Ground,
With Gally-Pots, and broken Phials crown'd;
Whilst empty Jarrs the dire Defeat resound.

Thus when some Storm its Crystal Quarry rends,
And Jove in ratling Show'rs of Ice descends;

Mount Athos shakes the Forests on his Brow,
Whilst down his wounded Sides fresh Torrents flow,
And Leaves and Limbs of Trees o'er-spread the Vale below.

But now, all Order lost, promiscuous Blows
Confus'dly fall; perplex'd the Battel grows.
From Stentor's Arm a massy Opiat flyes,
And strait a deadly Sleep clos'd Carus' Eyes.
At Colon great Sertorius Buckthorn flung,
Who with fierce Gripes, like those of Death, was stung;
But with a dauntless and disdainful Mien
Hurl'd back Steel Pills, and hit him on the Spleen.
Chiron attack'd Talthibius with such Might,
One Pass had paunch'd the huge hydropick Knight,
Who strait retreated to evade the Wound,
But in a Flood of Apozem was drown'd.
This Psylas saw, and to the Victor said,
Thou shalt not long survive th'unwieldy Dead,
Thy Fate shall follow; to confirm it, swore
By th'Image of Priapus, which he bore;
And rais'd an Eagle-stone, invoking loud
On Cynthia, leaning o'er a Silver Cloud.

Great Queen of Night, and Empress of the Seas,
If faithful to thy Midnight Mysteries,
If still observant of my early Vows,
These Hands have eas'd the mourning Matron's Throws;
Direct this rais'd avenging Arm aright,
So may loud Cymbals aid thy lab'ring Light.
He said, and let the pond'rous Fragment fly
At Chiron, but learn'd Hermes put it by.

Tho' the haranguing God survey'd the War,
That Day the Muses Sons were not his Care.
Two Friends, Adepts, the Trismegists by Name,
Alike their Features, and alike their Flame.
As simpling ne'er fair Tweed each sung by turn,
The list'ning River wou'd neglect his Urn.
Those Lives they fail'd to rescue by their Skill,
Their Muse cou'd make immortal with her Quill.
But learn'd Enquiries after Nature's State
Dissolv'd the League, and kindled a Debate.
The One, for lofty Labours fruitful known,
Fill'd Magazines with Volumes of his own.
At his once-favour'd Friend a Tome he threw
That from its Birth had slept unseen till now.
Stunn'd with the Blow the batter'd Bard retir'd,
Sunk down, and in a Simile expir'd.

And now the Cohorts shake, the Legions ply,
The yielding Flanks confess the Victory.
Stentor undaunted still, with noble Rage
Sprung thro' the Battel, Querpo to engage.
Fierce was the Onset, the Dispute was great,
Both cou'd not vanquish, Neither would retreat;
Each Combatant his Adversary mauls,
With batter'd Bed-pans, and stav'd Urinals.
On Stentor's Crest the useful Chrystal breaks,
And Tears of Amber gutter'd down his Cheeks.
But whilst the Champion, as late Rumours tell,
Design'd a sure decisive Stroke, he fell:
And as the Victor hov'ring o'er him stood,
With Arms extended, thus the Suppliant su'd.

When Honour's lost, 'tis a Relief to die;
Death's but a sure Retreat from Infamy.
But to the lost, if Pity might be shown,
Reflect on young Querpoïdes thy Son;
Then pity mine, for such an Infant-Grace
Smiles in his Eyes, and flatters in his Face.
If he was near, Compassion he'd create,
Or else lament his wretched Parent's Fate.
Thine is the Glory, and the Field is thine;
To thee the lov'd Dispens'ry I resign.

At this the Victors own such Extasies,
As Memphian Priests if their Osyris sneeze;
Or Champions with Olympick Clangour fir'd;
Or simpring Prudes with sprightly Nance inspir'd;
Or Sultans rais'd from Dungeons to a Crown;
Or fasting Zealots when the Sermon's done.

A while the Chief the deadly Stroak declin'd,
And found Compassion pleading in his Mind.
But whilst he view'd with Pity the Distress'd,
He spy'd Signetur writ upon his Breast.
Then tow'rds the Skies he toss'd his threatning Head,
And fir'd with more than mortal Fury, said

Sooner than I'll from vow'd Revenge desist,
His Holiness shall turn a Quietist,
Jansenius and the Jesuits agree,
The Inquisition wink at Heresie,

Warm Convocations own the Church secure,
And more consult her Doctrine than her Pow'r.

With that he drew a Lancet in his Rage,
To puncture the still supplicating Sage.
But while his Thoughts that fatal Stroke decree,
Apollo interpos'd in form of Fee.
The Chief great Pæan's golden Tresses knew,
He own'd the God, and his rais'd Arm withdrew.

Thus often at the Temple-Stairs we've seen
Two Tritons of a rough Athletick Mien,
Sourly dispute some Quarrel of the Flood,
With Knuckles bruis'd, and Face besmear'd in Blood;
But at the first Appearance of a Fare,
Both quit the Fray, and to their Oars repair.

The Heroe so his Enterprize recalls,
His Fist unclinches, and the Weapon falls.

See the Allusion Hom. Il. B. 18. Virg. Æn. B. 8.

See Ov. Met. B. 2.

This Bird, according to the Ancients, gives it self a Clyster with its Beak.

Alluding to Astyanax. See Hom. Il.

The Skin of a dissected Baboon call'd so.

See Hom. Il. B. 5.

See Plin.

See Tass.

See the Allusion. Virg. Æn.

Those Members of the College that observe a late Statute, are call'd by the Apothecaries Signetur Men.

CANTO VI.

While the shrill Clangour of the Battel rings,
Auspicious Health appear'd on Zephir's Wings;
She seem'd a Cherub most divinely bright,
More soft than Air, more gay than Morning Light.
A Charm she takes from each excelling Fair,
And barrows C---le's Shape, and G---ton's Air.
Her Eyes like R---agh's their Beams dispense,
With Ch---ill's Bloom and B---kley's Innocence;
On Iris thus the differing Beams bestow
The Die, that paints the Wonders of her Bow,
From the fair Nymph a vocal Musick falls,
As to Machaon thus the Goddess calls.

Enough th'Atchievement of your Arms you've shown,
You seek a Triumph you shou'd blush to own.

Haste to th'Elysian Fields, those bless'd Abodes,
Where Harvy sits among the Demi-Gods.
Consult that sacred Sage, soon He'll disclose
The Method that must mollify these Woes,
Let Celsus for that Enterprize prepare,
His Conduct to the Shades shall be my Care,

Aghast the Heroes stood dissolv'd in Fear,
A Form so Heav'nly bright They cou'd not bear;
Celsus alone unmov'd, the Sight beheld,
The rest in pale Confusion left the Field.

So when the Pigmies, marshall'd on the Plains,
Wage puny War against th'invading Cranes;
The Poppets to their Bodkin Spears repair,
And scatter'd Feathers flutter in the Air;
But when the bold imperial Bird of Jove
Stoops on his sounding Pinions from above,
Among the Brakes the Fairy Nation crowds,
And the Strimonian Squadron seeks the Clouds.

And now the Delegate prepares to go
And view the Wonders of the Realms below;
Then takes Amomum for the Golden Bough.
Thrice did the Goddess with her Sacred Wand
The Pavement strike; and strait at her Command
The willing Surface opens, and descries
A deep Descent that leads to nether Skies.
Hygeia to the silent Region tends;
And with his Heav'nly Guide the Charge descends,

Thus Numa when to hallow'd Caves retir'd,
Was by Ægeria guarded and inspir'd.

Within the Chambers of the Globe they spy
The Beds where sleeping Vegetables lye,
'Till the glad Summons of a Genial Ray
Unbinds the Glebe, and calls them out to Day.
Hence Pancies trick themselves in various Hew,
And hence Junquils derive their fragrant Dew;
Hence the Carnation and the bashful Rose
Their Virgin Blushes to the Morn disclose.
Hence the chast Lilly rises to the Light,
Unveils her snowy Breasts and charms the Sight.
Hence Arbours are with twining Greens array'd,
T'oblige complaining Lovers with their Shade.
And hence on Daphne's Laurel'd Forehead grow
Immortal Wreaths for Phœbus and Nassau.

The Insects here their lingring Trance survive:
Benumb'd they seem, and doubtful if alive.
From Winter's Fury hither they repair,
And stay for milder Skies and softer Air.
Down to these Cells obscener Reptils creep,
Where hateful Nutes and painted Lizzards sleep.
Where shiv'ring Snakes the Summer Solstice wait;
Unfurl their painted Folds, and slide in State.
Here their new Form the numb'd Erucæ hide,
Their num'rous Feet in slender Bandage ty'd:
Soon as the kindling Year begins to rise,
This upstart Rase their native Clod despise,
And proud of painted Wings attempt the Skies,

Now, those profounder Regions They explore,
Where Metals ripen in vast Cakes of Oar.
Here, sullen to the Sight, at large is spread
The dull unwieldy Mass of lumpish Lead.
There, glimm'ring in their dawning Beds, are seen
The more aspiring Seeds of sprightly Tin.
The Copper sparkles next in ruddy Streaks;
And in the Gloom betrays its glowing Cheeks.
The Silver then with bright and burnish'd Grace,
Youth and a blooming Lustre in its Face,
To th'Arms of those more yielding Metals flies,
And in the Folds of their Embraces lyes.
So close they cling, so stubbornly retire;
Their Loves more violent than the Chymist's Fire.

Near These the Delegate with Wonder spies
Where Floods of living Silver serpentize:
Where richest Metals their bright Looks put on,
And Golden Streams thro' Amber Channels run.
Where Light's gay God descends to ripen Gems,
And lend a Lustre brighter than his Beams.

Here he observes the Subterranean Cells,
Where wanton Nature sports in idle Shells.
Some Helicoeids, some Conical appear;
These, Miters emulate; Those, Turbans are.
Here Marcasites in various Figure wait,
To ripen to a true Metallick State:
'Till Drops that from impending Rocks descend
Their Substance petrifie, and Progress end.
Nigh, livid Seas of kindled Sulphur flow;
And, whilst enrag'd, their Fiery Surges glow:

Convulsions in the lab'ring Mountains rise,
And hurl their melted Vitals to the Skies.

He views with Horror next the noisie Cave,
Where with hoarse Dinn imprison'd Tempests rave:
Where clam'rous Hurricanes attempt their Flight,
Or, whirling in tumultuous Eddies, fight.
The warring Winds unmov'd Hygeia heard.
Brav'd their lou'd Jars, but much for Celsus fear'd.
And omeda, so whilst her Heroe fought,
Shook for his Danger, but her own forgot.

And now the Goddess with her Charge descends,
Where scarce one chearful Glimpse their Steps befriends.
Here his forsaken Seat old Chaos keeps;
And undisturb'd by Form, in Silence sleeps.
A grisly Wight, and hideous to the Eye;
An aukward Lump of shapeless Anarchy.
With sordid Age his Features are defac'd;
His Lands unpeopled, and his Countries waste.
To these dark Realms much learned Lumber creeps,
There copious M--- safe in Silence sleeps.
Where Mushroom Libels in Oblivion lye,
And, soon as born, like other Monsters die.
Upon a Couch of Jett in these Abodes,
Dull Night, his melancholy Consort, nods.
No Ways and Means their Cabinet employ;
But their dark Hours they waste in barren Joy.

Nigh this Recess with Terror they survey
Where Death maintains his dread tyrannick Sway;

In the close Covert of a Cypress Grove,
Where Goblins frisk, and airy Spectres rove,
Yawns a dark Cave, with awful Horror wide.
And there the Monarch's Triumphs are descry'd.
Confus'd, and wildly huddled to the Eye,
The Beggar's Pouch, and Prince's Purple lye.
Dim Lamps with sickly Rays scarce seem to glow;
Sighs heave in mournful Moans, and Tears o'er-flow.
Restless Anxiety, forlorn Despair,
And all the faded Family of Care,
Old mouldring Urns, Racks, Daggers and Distress
Make up the frightful Horror o'the Place.

Within its dreadful Jaws those Furies wait,
Which execute the harsh Decres of Fate.
Febris is first: The Hag relentless hears
The Virgin's Sighs; and sees the Infant's Tears.
In her parch'd Eye-Balls fiery Meteors reign;
And restless Ferments revel in each Vein.

Then Hydrops next appears amongst the Throng;
Bloated, and big, she slowly sails along.
But, like a Miser, in Excess she's poor;
And pines for Thirst amidst her wat'ry Store.

Now loathsom Lepra, that offensive Spright,
With foul Eruptions stain'd offends the Sight.
Still deaf to Beauty's sott persuading Pow'r:
Nor can bright Hebe's charms her Bloom secure.

Whilst meager Pthisis gives a silent Blow;
Her Stroaks are sure; but her Advances slow.

No loud Alarms, nor fierce Assaults are shown:
See starves the Fortress first; then takes the Town.
Behind stood Crouds of much inferior Name,
Too num'rous to repeat, too foul to name;
The Vassals of their Monarch's Tyranny:
Who, at his Nod, on fatal Errands fly.

Now Celsus, with his glorious Guide, invades
The silent Region of the fleeting Shades:
Where Rocks and ruful Desarts are descry'd;
And sullen Styx rolls down his lazy Tide.
Then shews the Ferry-man the Plant he bore,
And claims his Passage to the further Shore.
To whom the Stygian Pilot smiling, said,
You need no Pass-port to demand our Aid.
Physicians never linger on this Strand;
Old Charon's present still at their Command.
Our awful Monarch and his Consort owe
To them the Peopling of their Realms below.
Then in his swarthy Hand he grasp'd his Oar,
Receiv'd his Guests aboard, and shov'd from Shoar.

Now, as the Goddess and her Charge prepare
To breath the Sweets of soft Elysian Air,
Upon the Left they spy a pensive Shade,
Who on his bended Arm had rais'd his Head:
Pale Grief sate heavy on his mournful Look:
To whom, not unconcern'd, thus Celsus spoke:

Tell me, thou much afflicted Shade why Sighs
Burst from your Breast, and Torrents from your Eyes.

And who those mangled Manes are, which show
A sullen Satisfaction at your Woe?

Since, said the Ghost, with Pity you'll attend;
Know, I'm Guiäcum, once your firmest Friend.
And on this barren Beach in Discontent
Am doom'd to stay, 'till th'angry Pow'rs relent.
Those Spectres seam'd with Scars that threaten there,
The Victims of my late ill Conduct are.
They vex with endless Clamours my Repose:
This wants his Palate; That demands his Nose:
And here they execute stern Pluto's Will,
And ply me ev'ry moment with a Pill.

Then Celsus thus: O much-lamented State!
How rigid is the Sentence you relate?
Methinks I recollect your former Air,
But ah how much you're chang'd from what you were!
Insipid as your late Ptisans you lye,
That once were sprightlier far than Mercury.
At the sad Tale you tell, the Poppies weep,
And mourn their vegetable Souls asleep.
The unctuous Larix, and the healing Pine
Lament your Fate in Tears of Turpentine.
But still the Off-spring of your Brain shall prove
The Grocers Care, and brave the Rage of Jove:
When Bonfires blaze, your vagrant Works shall rise.
In Rockets, 'till they reach the wond ring Skies.

If Mortals e'er the Stygian Pow'rs cou'd bend,
Entreaties to their awful Seats I'd send.
But since no human Arts the Fates dissuade;
Direct me how to find bless'd Harvy's Shade.

In vain th'unhappy Ghost still urg'd his Stay;
Then rising from the Ground, he shew'd the Way.

Nigh the dull Shoar a shapeless Mountain stood,
That with a dreadful Frown survey'd the Flood.
Its fearful Brow no lively Greens put on,
No frisking Goats bound o'er the ridgy Stone.
To gain the Summit the bright Goddess try'd,
And Celsus follow'd, by degrees, his Guide.

Th'Ascent thus conquer'd, now they tow'r on high,
And taste th'Indulgence of a milder Sky.
Loose Breezes on their airy Pinions play,
Soft Infant Blossoms their chast Odours pay;
And Roses blush their fragrant Lives away.
Cool Streams thro' flow'ry Meadows gently glide;
And as They pass, their painted Banks they chide.
These blissful Plains no Blights, nor Mildews fear,
The Flow'rs ne'er fade, and Shrubs are Myrtles here.
The Morn awakes the Tulip from her Bed;
E'er Noon in painted Pride she decks her Head:
Roab'd in rich Dye she triumphs on the Green,
And ev'ry Flow'r does Homage to their Queen.
So when bright Venus rises from the Flood,
Around in Throngs the wond'ring Nereids crowd;
The Tritons gaze and tune each vocal Shell,
And ev'ry Grace unsung, the Waves conceal.

The Delegate observes, with wond'ring Eyes,
Ambrosial Dews descend, and Incense rise.
Then hastens onward to the pensive Grove,
The silent Mansion of disastrous Love.

Here Jealousie with Jaundice Looks appears,
And broken Slumbers, and fantastick Fears.
The widow'd Turtle hangs her moulting Wings,
And to the Woods in mournful Murmurs sings.
No Winds but Sighs are there, no Floods but Tears,
Each conscious Tree a Tragick Signal bears.
Their wounded Bark records some broken Vow,
And Willow Garlands hang on ev'ry Bough.

Olivia here in Solitude he found,
Her down-cast Eyes fix'd on the silent Ground:
Her Dress neglected, and unbound her Hair,
She seem'd the dying Image of Despair.
How lately did this celebrated Thing
Blaze in the Box, and sparkle in the Ring,
'Till the Green-sickness and Love's force betray'd
To Death's remorseless Arms th'unhappy Maid.

All o'er confus'd the guilty Lover stood,
The Light forsook his Eyes, his Cheeks the Blood;
An Icy Horrour shiver'd in his Look,
As to the cold-complexion'd Nymph He spoke:

Tell me dear Shade, from whence such anxious Care,
Your Looks disorder'd, and your Bosom bare?
Why thus you languish like a drooping Flow'r,
Crush'd by the weight of some relentless Show'r?
Your languid Looks, your late ill Conduct tell;
O that instead of Trash you'd taken Steel!

Stabb'd with th'unkind Reproach, the Conscious Maid
Thus to her late insulting Lover said;

When Ladies listen not to loose Desire,
You stile our Modesty, our want of Fire.
Smile or Forbid, Encourage or Reprove,
You still find Reasons to believe we love:
Vainly you think a Liking we betray,
And never mean the peevish Things we say.
Few are the Fair Ones of Rufilla's make,
Unask'd she grants, uninjur'd she'll forsake:
But sev'ral Cælias, sev'ral Ages boast,
That like, where Reason recommends the most.
Where heav'nly Truth and Tenderness conspire,
Chast Passion may perswade us to desire.

Your Sex, he cry'd, as Custom bids, behaves;
In Forms the Tyrant tyes such haughty Slaves.
To do nice Conduct Right, you Nature wrong;
Impulses are but weak, where Reason's strong.
Some want the Courage, but how Few the Flame!
They like the Thing, that startle at the Name.
The lonely Phœnix, tho' profess'd a Nun,
Warms into Love, and kindles at the Sun.
Those Tales of spicy Urns and fragrant Fires,
Are but the Emblems of her scorch'd Desires.

Then as he strove to clasp the fleeting Fair,
His empty Arms confess'd th'impassive Air.
From his Embrace th'unbody'd Spectre flies,
And as she mov'd, she chid him with her Eyes.

They hasten now to that delightful Plain,
Where the glad Manes of the Bless'd remain:
Where Harvy gathers Simples to bestow
Immortal Youth on Heroe's Shades below.

Soon as the bright Hygeia was in view,
The Venerable Sage her Presence knew.
Thus He—

Hail, blooming Goddess! Thou propitious Pow'r,
Whose Blessings Mortals more than Life implore.
With so much Lustre your bright Looks endear,
That Cottages are Courts where Those appear.
Mankind, as you vouchsafe to Smile or Frown.
Finds Ease in Chains, or Anguish in a Crown.

With just Resentments and Contempt you see
The foul Dissentions of the Faculty;
How your sad sick'ning Art now hangs her Head,
And once a Science, is become a Trade
Her Sons ne'er rifle her Mysterious Store,
But study Nature less, and Lucre more.
Not so when Rome to th'Epidaurian rais'd
A Temple, where devoted Incence blaz'd.
Oft Father Tyber views the holy Fire,
As the learn'd Son is worship't like the Sire:
The Sage with Romulus like Honours claim;
The Gift of Life and Laws were then the same.

I show'd of old, how vital Currents glide,
And the Meanders of their refluent Tide.
Then, Willis, why spontaneous Actions here,
And whence involuntary Motions there:
And how the Spirits by Mechanick Laws,
In wild Careers, tumultuous Riots cause.

Nor wou'd our Wharton, Bates, and Glisson lye
In the Abyss of blind Obscurity.
But now such wond'rous Searches are forborn,
And Pæan's Art is by Divisions torn.
Then let your Charge attend, and I'll explain
How her lost Health your Science may regain.

Haste, and the matchless Atticus Address,
From Heav'n and great Nassau he has the Mace.
Th'oppress'd to his Asylum still repair;
Arts he supports, and Learning is his Care.
He softens the harsh Rigour of the Laws,
Blunts their keen Edge, and grinds their Happy Claws;
And graciously he casts a pitying Eye
On the sad State of virtuous Poverty.
When-e'er he speaks, Heav'ns! how the list'ning Throng
Dwells on the melting Musick of his Tongue.
His Arguments are Emblems of his Mein,
Mild, but not faint; and forcing, tho' serene;
And when the Pow'r of Eloquence He'd try,
Here, Light'ning strikes you; there, soft Breezes sigh.

To him you must your sickly State refer,
Your Charter claims him as your Visiter.
Your Wounds he'll close, and sov'reignly restore
Your Science to the Height it had before.

Then Nassau's Health shall be your glorious Aim,
His Life should be as lasting as His Fame.
Some Princes Claims from Devastations spring,
He condescends in pity to be King:
And when, amidst his Olives plac'd, He stands,
And governs more by Candour than Commands:

Ev'n then not less a Heroe he appears,
Than when his Laurel Diadem he wears.

Wou'd Phœbus, or his G---le, but inspire
Their sacred Veh'mence of Poetick Fire;
To celebrate in Song that God-like Pow'r,
Which did the lab'ring Universe restore;
Fair Albion's Cliffs wou'd Eccho to the Strain,
And praise the Arm that Conquer'd, to regain
The Earth's Repose, and Empire o'er the Main.

Still may th'immortal Man his Cares repeat,
To make his Blessings endless as they're great:
Whilst Malice and Ingratitude confess
They've strove for Ruin long without Success.
When late, Jove's Eagle from the Pyle shall rise
To bear the Victor to the boundless Skies,
Awhile the God puts off Paternal Care,
Neglects the Earth, to give the Heav'ns a Star.
Near thee, Alcides, shall the Heroe shine;
His Rays resembling, as his Labours, Thine.

Had some fam'd Patriot, of the Latin Blood,
Like Julius Great, and like Octavius Good,
But thus preserv'd the Latian Liberties,
Aspiring Columns soon had reach'd the Skies:
Loud Io's the proud Capitol had shook,
And all the Statues of the Gods had spoke.

No more the Sage his Raptures cou'd pursue:
He paus'd; and Celsus with his Guide withdrew.

See Newt. of Col.

Health, celebrated by the Ancients as a Goddess.

See Ov. Met. B. 15.

See Godort of Caterpillars and Butterflies.

See Yald. on Mines.

Feaver.

Dropsie.

Leprosie.

Consumption.

See the Allusion, Virg. Æn. B. 6.

See Virg. Æn. B. 6.

A Temple built at Rome, in the Island of Tyber, to Æsculapius Son of Apollo.

Read the Ceremony of the Apotheosis.

Hercules, a Constellation near Ariadne's Crown.

FINIS.