University of Virginia Library

Some say a Physician of late
That always lov'd to serve the Great,
Met a Disease outmatch'd his Skill,
And some pretend to say so still:
Tho learnedly he'as told the Mob,
The Lungs were tainted ev'ry Lobe,
And how th'Abdomen was affected,
So nicely well it was dissected.
As who should say, that Dr. Hannes,
If any one would take the Pains,
Wanted either Lungs or Brains.
I know not what the Vulgar think,
Or how some Men at Noon-day wink;
But thus it is, may't please you all,
To raise a P*mp a Prince must fall.

Thus when grave Sages are neglected,
And beardless Boys so much respected;
When Oracles, that us'd of old
Mighty Mysteries to unfold,
Are like Stories still untold:
When solid Truth and solid Gold,
Are for Noise and Gingle sold;
Then Notion may for Knowledg pass,
But Æsculapius for an Ass.
Thistles and Logick chop together,
As Baro---men do Wind and Weather;
Both hit alike, and both prove good,
One for the Mind, the other Food.
Had not Mens Wits eclipsed been,
'Tis Ten to one we had foreseen,
And then we'd needed no Dissections,
No Consultations, no Inspections,
Nor any need of these Reflections;
But when mens Eyes are grown so bad,
They canot see what once they had,
'Tis time to let 'em feel the smart,
And clear their Eyes by rules of Art.
When that falls short, 'tis some content,
Tho the Mark was miss'd it was well meant.
And thus poor Mortals seek for Ease,
When the Physician's the Disease;
As Learned Heathens use to tell,
Where such Men live does Sorrow dwell.
But sure a Nation must be blind,
Or else they wear their Eyes behind,
That cannot tell a Man of Sense,
From one that's all Impertinence,
All Guts and Meseraick Veins,
Lungs, Liver, Spleen and rotten Reins,
But little Head, and much less Brains;
Joints stiff, Inflexible as Stones,
No Juice or Marrow in his Bones,
Nor Flesh nor Fat is to be seen,
But Muscles shrivled, dry and lean.
This is the Wondrous piece of Nature,
That picks the Bones of every Creature:
And yet you'd swear, to look upon him,
He knows no more than what comes from him,
But how so great a Man of Art,
Should let a Royal Heir depart,
And never tell the reason why,
He shou'd not live, or he shou'd die.
Tho some time after, as they say,
He cou'd have told a certain Way,
How to have got the Poison out,
That lurk'd in th'Heart or thereabout.
But then his Thoughts were so perplext,
Just as a Priest that takes a Text,
And has forgot what he design'd
When first the Text was in his mind:
Ev'n so our learn'd Apollo did,
Not thinking what Heaven had forbid.
But had the People thought on't then,
They might have been great Friends to Spain,
And sav'd them many a needless Shilling,
That they bestow'd on their King's Killing,
By sending for a Neapolitan,
When we have much a quicker Man,
And far more dextrous at the Parts,
At shewing livid Lungs or Hearts,
Or any Secret of that Nature,
For this is but the smallest matter;
He can in few years practice show,
How he has serv'd a thousand so.
And wou'd you wonder at his Skill,
Whose Business 'tis he shows to Kill;
Spaniards, dull Souls, preserv'd their King,
By Chocolate or some such thing:
When Hannes has Arts, as yet unknown,
Where 'tis but Presto, and they're gone.
I wonder any one then dare
With this Philosopher compare;
Gibbons and Ratclife, he'd prove Fools,
If laid in's Anatomick Schools.
He'd so dissect both their Abdomens,
You'd swear they were but nasty Omens:
Then tell you 'tis but common Matter,
Such as is found in every Creature,
As wise in Brutes as human Nature.
For my part, I believe it true,
Since, Hannes, I see no more in you.