Democritus, or Doctor Merry-man his Medicines against Melancholy humors. Written by S. R. [i.e. by Samuel Rowlands] |
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[The Deuill did complaine he was not well] |
 | Democritus, or Doctor Merry-man his Medicines |  |
[The Deuill did complaine he was not well]
The Deuill did complaine he was not well,And would goe take some Phisicke out of hell:
To England, France, & Spaine: with speed he got,
Where all refused him, he did burne so hot.
In hast he then to Germany did hye,
The cunning of a Quack-saluer to try;
Where in a Market-place, vpon a Stage,
He found a fellow, could all griefes asswage.
Doctor (quoth he) I want some of thy skill,
For I do find I am exceeding ill:
And any thing for ease I will endure;
What, wilt thou vndertake my paine to cure?
If thou canst ease the Mallady I haue,
Thou shalt haue Gold, euen what thy selfe wilt craue.
Gentleman (said this Doctor to the Deuill,)
Vpon my life Ile rid you of your euill;
Make vnto me those griefes you haue but knowne,
And with the curing them let me alone.
Why Sir (quoth he) my head with hornes doth ake,
My braines doth brimstone like Tobacco take;
Mine eyes are full of euer-burning fire,
My tongue a drop of water doth desire,
And I can neither eate, nor drinke, nor sleepe;
Ther's no diseases whatsoere they be,
But I haue all of them impos'd on me.
All torments that the tongue of man can name,
Within, without, in a continuall flame.
Quoth the Quack-saluer, Sir Ile vndertake,
A sound man of you in a month to make:
Wilt please your worship, shew me where you dwell,
Marry (quoth he) my Chamber is in hell:
Thy charges in the iourney I will beare,
And Ile preferre thee to the Deuill there.
With speede get vp, Ile take thee on my backe,
The world may spare you, and in hell we lacke.
| Democritus, or Doctor Merry-man his Medicines | |