The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Doctor next; a Foe to all Excess,
Who travell'd more for Health than Holiness.
In nice Anatomy well skill'd was he,
And not a Stranger to Astronomy.
He knew to wire-draw a Distemper well,
And cures by Magic natural foretel.
A deep Astrologer, and could with Ease
Cast the Nativity of each Disease;

Show at what punctual Hour it shou'd expire,
In Terms which Knaves invent, and Fools admire.
The Cause of ev'ry Malady he knew,
Whether of Cold, Heat, Moist, or Dry it grew.
Told which of those engender'd the Disease,
'Twas but removing that, and you'd have Ease:
Th' Apothecary waited his Command,
Drugs and Electuaries were still at Hand.
Whatever one prescrib'd, the other made,
And each by Turns advanc'd the mutual Trade.
He'd tell the Wonders, wrought by Phœbus' Son,
What Fame the great Hippocrates had won:
Well read in Galen, Celsus, Avicene,
In Dioscorides and Damascene.
These Names, and many more, he had by rote,
Which to th' unlearn'd he never fail'd to quote.
No Bible on his Pagan Shelves had he,
It was prohibited the Layety.
In Diet singular, young tender Meat,
And easy of Digestion, he wou'd eat.

At a rich Patient's Table, bold and free;
But at his own, he prais'd Frugality;
Of Scarlet Persian Silk his Habit was,
And neatly lin'd with Taffety, or Gause.
Great were his Gains, but mod'rate his Expence;
He flourish'd in a Time of Pestilence.
Gold's the best Cordial; yet he lov'd to see
Coin'd Aurum, rather than potabile.