University of Virginia Library

No Nation has such Physical Liefhebbers
As th' English swarme withal, among their Neighbors,
Where evryones Delight, as wel as Study,
Is to store-up all medecines, for Mans Body.
That serves them for their Natural Diversions,
And Entertainment, of al other Persons.
And this by People of all Trades, and Ranks,
As if th' had beene Design'd for Mountebanks.
For as the Antient Empriques, usd to lay
Their Patients in the Publiquest High-way,
T' have evry mans opinion, that past by,
About the Sick mans Cure, and malady,
The selfsame Course, our modern Patient[s] take,
And all they meet with, their Physicians make.
For all Pretender[s] of the virtuosos,
Turn Doctors when the[y] do but talk of Doses.
A Cook, an Host, an Herb-woman; or Nurse
Are all Licentiats in the Art, of Course,
A Barber for a Surgeon is Allowd
But turns all-Doctor, when [he] lets men Bloud,
And He, that has the least acquaintance Tampers
With Sickmen, in their very Beds, or Chambers,
Where those that are but talkative enough,
Præscribe a Medcine when they hear him cough.
No Parson did his office for the sick,
But gave it over and turnd Emperique.
So he that had been cured by Flys, that Got
By Chance, into the medcine, and the Pot,
But when the Dose was spent: He sent for more
With those black Creatures in't, he tooke before.

For universal Medcines are a Trick
That Nature never Meant, to Cure the Sick,
Unless by Death the Singular Receipt
To Root out all Diseases by the Great,
For universals deal in no one Part
Of Nature, Nor Particulars of Art,
And therefore That French Quack that Set up Physique,
Cald his Receipt a General Specifique:
For tho In mortal Poysons, evry one,
Is Mortal universally alone:
Yet Nature never made an Antidot,
To Cure them all, as Easy as th' are Got;
Much less, among so many variations,
Of Diffrent Maladys, and Complications:
Make all the Contrarieties of Nature,
Submit themselves t' an Equall Moderator.

A Farrier is a Doctor, nere the worse,
For Shooing, and for Curing of a Horse:
That dos not only fit him, with his shoos
But when Hee's sicke, Administer a Dose.

For nothing but their own Indispositions,
Are Dangerous, and Fatall to Physitians.

For all the Good they can pretend to do
Are but for ostentation meant, and show.

The Frequentst Leprosys, and b'ing Possest
With Inmate Devils, at the same time ceast.

For to examine Pulses, or cast water,
Are but to pump Diseases hid by Nature.

For Sickmen are no Patients held until
They take the Medcine, as the Greater Ill.

Like those that catch Diseases, with Conceipt,
And Cure them, with a charme, or Amulet.

For Empriques torture worse then Hangmen,
To Rescue members from the Gangreen:
And operators slash, and Mangle,
To cure Inflamd Sores, when they Rancle.
Whose Remedys are little lesse
Then th' Insupportablest Disease,
Recover wounds with greater Cuts,
And Cure with Bullets, twisted Guts.

Like him, who Nicely eate his Meals,
And Nonchons in a Pair of Scales.
And did not only Drink, and Eate,
But Pist, and went to stoole, by weight.

A Dog, that Grazes when hee's sick:
Is th' only Natrall Emperique.

Is't not the Greatest Art of State,
To make those wh' are so obstinate,
And mad upon their own undoing,
That nothing can Preserve from Ruine:
But by Diverting of these Freaks,
To save them, that would break their Necks?
And bring them back into their Senses,
With faire, and Plausible Pretences?
Whom all the Plainest Truth, and Reason,
Had nere been strong enough to ceaze on?
For nothing else in Nature's able,
To Rescue from it self, the Rabble,
With whom, there's Nothing Tru, or wise
Will ever Pass, but in Disguise,
And when th' are Mad, and Peremptory,
Prescribe a whimsy, or a Story:
And with mere Rallery, Impose
Health, better then the luckyst Dose:
And, with it self, Recover a Disease,
More Natral then sovrainst Recipes.

So Cardan cur'd himself of making mone
Perpetual for the Hanging of his Son,
And put an End, to all his whinneling,
By Pissing only through a wedding-Ring.

For nothing is more trite, and ordinary,
Then shifting Medcines, by th' Apothecary
That wants a Simple, in a Doctor's Bill,
And put's in those, for any other Ill.

For when the Doctor doubts of the Disease
His best opinion's Cross, or Pile, to guess.

Whence men are brought to Desprater Dist[r]esses,
By catching Physique rather then Diseases:
Whence 'tis observd they frequently Recover
As soon as Doctors do but give them over.
For when the sickly Body, and the Soul
Do chance to fall on one another, Foul:
Their Busnes is to talke Secundum Artem
And, to Compound the Controversy, Part 'em.

For 'tis not what th' have don, but what th' have earnd
That makes the best Physitians, and most Learnd.

And when there are but one, at most in Ten
That Nature takes for Tithes, of all Sick men,
Unles it be in Epidemique Aches
When Nature makes the violentst Dispatches
The Rest miscarry, for the greatest Part,
By usinge too much, or too little Art.
And by their own Neglects, or vain Excess
Destroy themselves, instead of the Disease.

The French hold Guicciardine, the best Historian,
For treating civilly their Native Murrian:
And Placing most impartially, The Staples
Of that great Factory, at first, at Naples.

For Nature when she's bent to do her Part,
Acts more Effectuall, then the Greatest Art.
That but Diverts the Course, she meant to take,
And sets her Few, but better Medcines back:
For who can tell what Nature would have don
If sh' had been cald in to her self alone?

A Doctor's sick of evry mans Disease
And cure's himself first, with his Recipes
And when he cuts and Slashes, and Dissects
'Tis only to finde out his own Defects.