Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads Jacobite Ballads, &c. &c. By George W. Thornbury ... with illustrations by H. S. Marks |
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THE LECTURE-THEATRE AT PADUA.
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 | Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads |  |
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THE LECTURE-THEATRE AT PADUA.
(Paracelsus.)
Don't tell me, Rupert and Fritz, 'tis the wisest man of the age—
Wiser than Geber, or Lully, or Rhazes, many a stage;
He's all the learning of Scotus, his wit would baffle a Jew,
And with a keen-bladed syllogism he'll run a sly doctor through.
Wiser than Geber, or Lully, or Rhazes, many a stage;
He's all the learning of Scotus, his wit would baffle a Jew,
And with a keen-bladed syllogism he'll run a sly doctor through.
Look at his pile of brain, and the keen eye under the hair
Of the tangled heap of eyebrow, when those smug doctors stare;
What a mouth, all clamped and barred, to shut in a secret truth!
And then when he laughs, what a glare through his beard of his broad, white tooth!
Of the tangled heap of eyebrow, when those smug doctors stare;
What a mouth, all clamped and barred, to shut in a secret truth!
And then when he laughs, what a glare through his beard of his broad, white tooth!
313
How he smites the desk with his hand, and look at his long gilt sword;
In the pommel he keeps a devil, bound to the will of its lord:
Sometimes he screws off the top, and it's out in the shape of a fly;
But back when he reads his speech, or he beckons it home with his eye.
In the pommel he keeps a devil, bound to the will of its lord:
Sometimes he screws off the top, and it's out in the shape of a fly;
But back when he reads his speech, or he beckons it home with his eye.
I've seen him track a nerve from the foot right up to the brain,
Seeking the cause of life, and the throne where the soul may reign;
As one in a workshop gropes, when the lights are all put out,
And the master is gone, pulling the ropes and the wheels about.
Seeking the cause of life, and the throne where the soul may reign;
As one in a workshop gropes, when the lights are all put out,
And the master is gone, pulling the ropes and the wheels about.
Lifting the flaccid hand of the cold, white marble limb,
As if the secrets of God were none of them hid from him—
As if he made better than that, aye, any day in the week;—
He smites us down with a frown, if any one dare to speak.
As if the secrets of God were none of them hid from him—
As if he made better than that, aye, any day in the week;—
He smites us down with a frown, if any one dare to speak.
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Yet Moser, Tuesday last, would take up his surgeon's knife,
And try the edge with his thumb. O Lord! what squabble and strife
To see the professor's wrath!—such jostling and crowding of heads!
Such squeezing, and taking of notes all round the hospital beds!
And try the edge with his thumb. O Lord! what squabble and strife
To see the professor's wrath!—such jostling and crowding of heads!
Such squeezing, and taking of notes all round the hospital beds!
Wonderful man the professor, Erasmus is not his fellow;
He'd beat all the doctors on earth, drubbing them black and yellow:
And they hate him, mock his art, would poison him if they could—
He scarce dare walk at night, to gather herbs in the wood.
He'd beat all the doctors on earth, drubbing them black and yellow:
And they hate him, mock his art, would poison him if they could—
He scarce dare walk at night, to gather herbs in the wood.
| Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads | |