The Dispensary

Front matter

THE

DISPENSARY.

A

Dedication to Anthony Henley, Esq.

TO

Anthony Henley, Esq;

A Man of Your Character can no more Prevent a Dedication, than he wou'd Encourage one; for Merit, like a Virgin's Blushes, is still most discover'd, when it labours most to be conceal'd.

Preface

THE

PREFACE.

SINCE this following Poem in a manner stole into the World, I cou'd not be surpriz'd to find it uncorrect: Tho' I can no more say I was a Stranger to its coming abroad, than that I approv'd of the Publisher's Precipitation in doing it: For a Hurry in the Execution, generally produces a Leisure in Reflection; so when we run the fastest, we stumble the oftnest. However, the Errors of the Printer have not been greater than the Candour of the Reader: and if I cou'd but say the same of the Defects of the Author, he'd need no Justification against the Cavils of some Furious Criticks, who, I am sure, wou'd have been better pleas'd if they had met with more Faults.

Their Grand Objection is, That the Fury Disease is an improper Machine to recite Characters, and recommend the Example of present Writers: But tho' I had the Authority of some Greek and Latin Poets, upon parallel Instances, to justifie the Design; yet, that I might not introduce any thing that seem'd inconsistent or hard, I started this Objection my self, to a Gentleman very remarkable in this sort of Criticism, who wou'd by no means allow that the Contrivance was forc'd, or the Conduct incongruous.

Disease is represented a Fury as well as Envy: She is imagin'd to be forc'd by an Incantation from her Recess; and to be reveng'd on the Exorcist, mortifies him with an Introduction of several Persons eminent in an Accomplishment He has made some Advances in.

Nor is the Compliment less to any Great Genius mention'd there; since a very Fiend, who naturally repines at any Excellency, is forc'd to confess how happily They've all succeeded.

Their next Objection is, That I have imitated the Lutrin of Monsieur Boileau. I must own I am proud of the Imputation; unless their Quarrel be, That I have not done it enough: But he that will give himself the trouble of examining, will find I have copy'd him in nothing but in two or three Lines in the Complaint of Molesse, Canto II. and in one in his First Canto; the Sense of which Line is entirely his, and I cou'd wish it were not the only good One in mine.

I have spoke to the most material Objections I have heard of, and shall tell these Gentlemen, That for ev'ry Fault they pretend to find in this Poem, I'll undertake to shew them two. One of these curious Persons does me the Honour to say, He approves of the Conclusion of it; but I suppose 'tis upon no other Reason, but because 'tis the Conclusion. However, I shou'd not be much concern'd not to be thought Excellent in an Amusement I have very little practis'd hitherto, nor perhaps ever shall again.

Reputation of this sort is very hard to be got, and very easie to be lost; its Pursuit is painful, and its Possession unfruitful: Nor had I ever attempted any thing in this kind, 'till finding the Animosities among the Members of the College of Physicians increasing daily (notwithstanding the frequent Exhortations of our Worthy President to the contrary) I was persuaded to attempt something of this Nature, and to endeavour to Railly some of our disaffected Members into a sense of their Duty, who have hitherto most obstinately oppos'd all manner of Union; and have continu'd so unreasonably refractory, that 'twas thought fit by the College, to reinforce the Observance of the Statutes by a Bond, which some of them wou'd not comply with, tho' none of 'em had refus'd the Ceremony of the customary Oath; like some that will trust their Wives with any Body, but their Mony with none. I was sorry to find there cou'd be any Constitution that was not to be cur'd without Poison, and that there shou'd be a Prospect of effecting it by a less grateful Method than Reason and Persuasion.

The Original of this Difference has been of some standing, tho' it did not break out to Fury and Excess 'till the time of Erecting the Dispensary, being an Apartment in the College set up for the Relief of the Sick Poor, and manag'd ever since with an Integrity and Disinterest suitable to so Charitable a Design.

If any Person wou'd be more fully inform'd about the Particulars of so Pious a Work, I refer him to a Treatise set forth by the Authority of the President and Censors, in the Year 97. 'Tis call'd A short Account of the Proceedings of the College of Physicians, London, in relation to the Sick Poor. The Reader may there not only be inform'd of the Rise and Progress of this so Publick an Undertaking, but also of the Concurrence and Encouragement it met with from the most, as well as the most Ancient Members of the Society, notwithstanding the vigorous Opposition of a few Men, who thought it their Interest to defeat so laudable a Design.

The Intention of this Preface is not to persuade Mankind to enter into our Quarrels, but to vindicate the Author from being censur'd of taking any indecent Liberty with a Faculty he has the Honour to be a Member of. If the Satyr may appear directed at any particular Person, 'tis at such only as are presum'd to be engag'd in Dishonourable Confederacies for mean and mercenary Ends, against the Dignity of their own Profession. But if there be no such, then these Characters are but imagi- nary, and by consequence ought to give no Body Offence.

The Description of the Battel is grounded upon a Feud that happen'd in the Dispensary, betwixt a Member of the College with his Retinue, and some of the Servants that attended there to dispense the Medicines; and is so far real: tho' the Poetical Relation be fictitious. I hope no Body will think the Author too undecently reflecting thro' the whole, who being too liable to Faults himself, ought to be less severe upon the Miscarriages of others.

There is a Character in this trivial Performance, which the Town, I find, applies to a particular Person: 'Tis a Reflection which I shou'd be sorry shou'd give Offence; being no more than what may be said of any Physician remarkable for much Practice. The killing of numbers of Patients is so trite a piece of Raillery, that it ought not to make the least Impression either upon the Reader, or the Person 'tis apply'd to; being one that I think in my Conscience a very able Physician, as well as a Gentleman of extraordinary Learning. If I am hard upon any one, 'tis my Reader: But some Worthy Gentlemen, as remarkable for their Humanity as their Extraordi- nary Parts, have taken care to make him amends for it, by prefixing something of their own.

I confess those Ingenious Gentlemen have done me a great Honour; but while they design an imaginary Panegyrick upon me, They have made a real one upon Themselves; and by saying how much this small Performance exceeds some others, They convince the World how far it falls short of Theirs.

Subscription

The Copy of an Instrument Subscribed by the President, Censor, most of the Elects, Senior Fellows, Candidates, &c. of the College of Physicians, in relation to the Sick Poor.

WHereas the several Orders of the College of Physicians, London, for prescribing Medicins gratis to the Poor Sick of the Cities of London and Westminster, and Parts adjacent, as also the Proposals made by the said College to the Lord Mayor, Court of Aldermen and Common Council of London in pursuance thereof, have hitherto been ineffectual, for that no Method hath been taken to furnish the Poor with Medicins for their Cure at low and reasonable Rates; we therefore whose Names are here under-written, Fellows or Members of the said College, being willing effectually to promote so great a Charity, by the Counsel and good Liking of the President and College declared in their Comitia, hereby (to wit, each of us severally and apart, and not the one for the other of us) do oblige our selves to pay to Dr. Thomas Burwell, Fellow and Elect of the said College, the sum of Ten Pounds a-piece of Lawful Mony of England, by such proportions, and at such times as to the major Part of the Subscribers hereto shall seem most convenient: Which Mony when received by the said Dr. Thomas Burwell, is to be by him expended in preparing and delivering Medicins to the Poor at their intrinsick Value, in such Manner, and at such Times, and by such Orders and Directions, as by the major Part of the Subscribers hereto, shall in Writing be hereafter appointed and directed for that Purpose. In Witness whereof we have hereunto set our Hands and Seals this Twenty Second Day of December, 1696.

Tho. Millington, Præses. Tho. Burwell, Elect and Censor. Sam. Collins, Elect. Edw. Browne, Elect. Rich. Torless, Elect and Censor. Edw. Hulse, Elect. Tho. Gill, Censor. Will. Dawes, Censor. Jo. Hutton. Rob. Brady. Hans Sloane. Rich. Morton. John Hawys. Ch. Harel. Rich. Robinson. Joh. Bateman.

Walter Mills. Dan. Coxe. Henry Sampson, Thomas Gibson. Charles Goodall. Edm. King. Sam. Garth. Barnh. Soame. Denton Nicholas. Joseph Gaylard. John Woollaston. Steph. Hunt. Oliver Horseman. Rich. Morton, Jun. David Hamilton. Hen. Morelli. Walter Harris. William Briggs. Th. Colladon.

Martin Lister. Jo. Colbatch. Bernard Connor. W. Cockburn. J. le Feure. P. Sylvestre. Cha. Morton. Walt. Charlton. Phineas Fowke.

Tho. Alvery. Rob. Gray. John Wright. James Drake. Sam. Morris. John Woodward. . . . . Norris. George Colebrock. Gideon Harvey.

The Design of Printing the Subscribers Names, is to shew, that the late Undertaking has the Sanction of a College Act; and that 'tis not a Project carried on by Five or Six Members, as those that oppose it would unjustly insinuate.

To Dr. G———th, upon the Dispensary

To Dr. G——th, upon the Dispensary.

OH that some Genius, whose Poetick Vein, Like M——gues, cou'd a just Piece sustain, Would search the Græcian and the Latin Store, And thence present thee with the purest Oar. In lasting Numbers praise thy whole Design, And Manly Beauty of each Nervous Line. Show how your pointed Satyr's Sterling Wit Does only Knaves, or formal Blockheads hit; Who're gravely Dull, insipidly Serene, And carry all their Wisdom in their Mien. Whom thus expos'd, thus strip'd of their Disguise, None will again Admire, most will Despise. Show in what Noble Verse Nassau you sing, How such a Poet's worthy such a King. When S——rs Charming Eloquence you Praise, How loftily your Tuneful Voice you raise! But my poor feeble Muse is as unfit To Praise, as Imitate what you have writ. Artists alone should venture to Commend What D——s can't Condemn, nor D——n Mend: What must, writ with that Fire and with that Ease, The Beaux, the Ladies, and the Criticks please.

C. Boyle.

To my Friend the Author, desiring my Opinion of his Poem

TO MY

Friend the Author,

Desiring My

Opinion of his POEM.

ASK me not, Friend, what I Approve or Blame,

Perhaps I know not why I Like, or Damn; I can be Pleas'd; and I dare own I am. I read Thee over with a Lover's Eye,

Thou hast no Faults, or I no Faults can spy; Thou art all Beauty, or all Blindness I. Criticks, and aged Beaux of Fancy chast,

Who ne'er had Fire, or else whose Fire is past, Must judge by Rules what they want Force to Taste. I wou'd a Poet, like a Mistress, try,

Not by her Hair, her Hand, her Nose, her Eye; But by some Nameless Pow'r, to give me Joy. The Nymph has G——ns, C——ls, C——ls Charm,

If with resistless Fires my Soul she warms With Balm upon her Lips, and Raptures in her Arms. Such is thy Genius, and such Art is thine,

Some secret Magick works in ev'ry Line; We judge not, but we feel the Pow'r Divine. Where all is Just, is Beauteous, and is Fair, Distinctions vanish of peculiar Air.

Lost in our Pleasure, we Enjoy in you Lucretius, Horace, S——d, M——gue. And yet 'tis thought, some Criticks in this Town,

By Rules to all, but to themselves, unknown Will Damn thy Verse, and Justify their own. Why, let them Damn: Were it not wond'rous hard Facetious M——, and the City B—— So near ally'd in Learning, Wit, and Skill, Shou'd not have leave to Judge, as well as Kill? Nay, let them write; Let them their Forces join, And hope the Motly Piece may Rival thine. Safely despise their Malice, and their Toil, Which Vulgar Ears alone will reach, and will defile. Be it thy Gen'rous Pride to please the Best, Whose Judgment, and whose Friendship is a Test. With Learned H—— thy healing Cares be join'd,

Search thoughtful R——e to his inmost Mind: Unite, restore your Arts, and save Mankind. Whilst all the busie M——ls of the Town Envy our Health, and pine away their own. When e'er thou wou'dst a Tempting Muse engage, Judicious W——h can best direct her Rage. To S——s, and to D——t too submit, And let their Stamp Immortalize thy Wit. Consenting Phœbus bows, if they Approve, And Ranks thee with the foremost Bards above: Whilst these of Right the Deathless Laurel send,

Be it my Humble Bus'ness to Commend The faithful, honest Man, and the well-natur'd Friend.

Chr. Codrington.

To my Friend Dr. G——th, the Author of The Dispensary.

To my Friend, Dr. G——th, the Author of the Dispensary.

TO Praise your Healing Art would be in vain; The Health you give, prevents the Poet's Pen. Sufficiently confirm'd is your Renown, And I but fill the Chorus of the Town. That let me wave, and only now Admire, The dazling Rays of your Poetick Fire: Which its diffusive Virtue does dispense, In flowing Verse, and elevated Sense.

The Town, which long has swallow'd foolish Verse, Which Poetasters ev'ry where rehearse; Will mend their Judgment now, refine their Taste, And gather up th' Applause they threw in waste. The Play-house shan't Encourage false Sublime, Abortive Thoughts, with Decoration-Rhime.

The Satyr of Vile Scribblers shall appear On none, except upon themselves severe: While yours Contemns the Gall of Vulgar Spight; And when you seem to Smile the most, you Bite.

Tho. Cheek.

To my Friend, upon The Dispensary.

TO MY

FRIEND,

UPON THE

DISPENSARY.

AS when the People of the Northern Zone Find the Approach of the Revolving Sun, Pleas'd and reviv'd. They see the new-born Light, And dread no more Eternity of Night:

Thus We, who lately as of Summer's Heat Have felt a Dearth of Poetry and Wit; Once fear'd, Apollo would return no more From warmer Climes, to an ungrateful Shore. But You, the Fav'rite of the Tuneful Nine, Have made the God in his full Lustre shine; Our Night have chang'd into a Glorious Day; And reach'd Perfection in your first Essay: So the young Eagle that his Force would try, Faces the Sun, and tow'rs it to the Sky.

Others proceed to Art by slow Degrees, Aukward at first, at length they faintly please. And still whate'er their first Efforts produce, Tis an Abortive, or an Infant Muse:

Whilst yours, like Pallas from the Head of Jove Steps out full grown, with Noblest Pace to move. What ancient Poets to their Subject owe, Is here inverted, and this owes to you: You found it Little, but have made it Great; They could Describe, but you alone Create.

Now let your Muse rise with Expanded Wings, To Sing the Fate of Empires, and of Kings; Great WILLIAMs Victories she'll next rehearse, And raise a Trophy of Immortal Verse: Thus to your Art proportion the Design,

And Mighty Things will Mighty Numbers join, A Second Namur, or a future Boyne.

Henry Blount.

Canto I.

THE

DISPENSARY

CANTO I.

SPEAK, Goddess! since 'tis Thou that best canst tell, How ancient Leagues to modern Discord fell; And why Physicians were so cautious grown Of Others Lives, and lavish of their own; How by a Journey to th' Elysian Plain Peace triumph'd, and old Time return'd again.

Not far from that most celebrated Place, Where angry Justice shews her awful Face; GrubStreetJournalNo10Where little Villains must submit to Fate, That great Ones may enjoy the World in state; There stands a Dome, Majestick to the Sight, And sumptuous Arches bear its oval Height;

A golden Globe plac'd high with artful Skill, Seems, to the distant Sight, a gilded Pill: This Pile was, by the Pious Patron's Aim, Rais'd for a Use as Noble as its Frame: Nor did the Learn'd Society decline The Propagation of that great Design; In all her Mazes, Nature's Face they view'd, And as she disappear'd, their Search pursu'd. Wrapt in the Shades of Night the Goddess lyes,

Yet to the Learn'd unveils her dark Disguise, But shuns the gross Access of vulgar Eyes.

Now she unfolds the faint, and dawning Strife Of infant Atoms kindling into Life: How ductile Matter new Meanders takes, And slender Trains of twisting Fibres makes. And how the Viscous seeks a closer Tone, By just degrees to harden into Bone; While the more Loose flow from the vital Urn, And in full Tides of Purple Streams return; How lambent Flames from Life's bright Lamp arise, And dart in Emanations through the Eyes; How from each Sluice a gentle Torrent pours, To slake a feav'rish Heat with ambient Show'rs. Whence, their Mechanick Pow'rs, the Spirits claim, How great their Force, how delicate their Frame: How the same Nerves are fashion'd to sustain The greatest Pleasure and the greatest Pain. Why bileous Juice a Golden Light puts on, And Floods of Chyle in Silver Currents run. How the dim Speck of Entity began T'exert its primogenial Heat and stretch to Man.

To how minute an Origin we owe Young Ammon, Cæsar, and the Great Nassau. Why paler Looks impetuous Rage proclaim, And why chill Virgins redden into Flame. Why Envy oft transforms with wan Disguise, And why gay Mirth sits smiling in the Eyes. All Ice why Lucrece, or Sempronia, Fire, Why S—— rages to survive Desire. Whence Milos Vigour at Olympicks shown, Whence Tropes to F—— or Impudence to S—— How Matter, by the vary'd shape of Pores, Or Idiots frames, or solemn Senators.

Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous Cause to find, How Body acts upon impassive Mind. How Fumes of Wine the thinking part can fire, Past Hopes revive, and present Joys inspire: Why our Complexions oft our Soul declare, And how the Passions in the Features are. How Touch and Harmony arise between Corporeal Figure, and a Form unseen, How quick their Faculties the Limbs fulfil, And act at ev'ry Summons of the Will. With mighty Truths, mysterious to descry, Which in the Womb of distant Causes lye.

But now no grand Enquiries are descry'd,

Mean Faction reigns, where Knowledge shou'd preside, Feuds are encreas'd, and Learning laid aside. Thus Synods oft, Concern for Faith conceal; And for important Nothings show a Zeal:

The drooping Sciences neglected pine, And Pæans Beams with fading Lustre shine. No Readers here with Hectick Looks are found, Or Eyes in Rheum, thro' midnight-watching drown'd: The lonely Edifice in Sweats complains That nothing there but sullen Silence reigns.

This Place so fit for undisturb'd Repose, The God of Sloth for his Asylum chose. Upon a Couch of Down in these Abodes, Supine with folded Arms he thoughtless nods, Indulging Dreams his Godhead lull to Ease, With Murmurs of soft Rills, and whisp'ring Trees. The Poppy and each numbing Plant dispense Their drowzy Virtue, and dull Indolence. No Passions interrupt his easie Reign, No Problems puzzle his Lethargick Brain, But dark Oblivion guards his peaceful Bed, And lazy Fogs hang ling'ring o'er his Head.

As at full length the pamper'd Monarch lay Batt'ning in Ease, and slumb'ring Life away. A spiteful Noise his downy Chains unties, Hastes forward, and encreases as it flies.

First, some to cleave the stubborn Flint engage, Till urg'd by Blows, it sparkles into Rage, Some temper Lute, some spacious Vessels move; These Furnaces erect, and Those approve.

Here Phyals in nice Discipline are set, There Gally-pots are rang'd in Alphabet. In this place, Magazines of Pills you spy; In that, like Forage, Herbs in Bundles lye. While lifted Pestles brandish'd in the Air Descend in Peals, and Civil Wars declare. Loud Streaks, with pounding Spice, the Fabrick rend, And Aromatick Clouds in Spires ascend.

So when the Cyclops o'er their Anvils sweat, And swelling Sinews ecchoing Blows repeat; From the Volcano's gross Eruptions rife, And curling Sheets of Smoke obscure the Skies,

The slumb'ring God amaz'd at this new Din, Thrice strove to rise, and thrice sunk down agen. Listless he stretch'd, and gaping rubb'd his Eyes, Then falter'd thus betwixt half Words and Sighs

How impotent a Deity am I! With Godhead born, but curs'd, that cannot die! Thro' my Indulgence, Mortals hourly share A grateful Negligence, and Ease from Care. Lull'd in my Arms, how long have I with-held The Northern Monarchs from the dusty Field. How have I kept the British Fleet at Ease, From tempting the rough Dangers of the Seas. Hibernia owns the Mildness of my Reign, And my Divinity's ador'd in Spain. I Swains to Sylvan Solitudes convey,

Where stretch'd on Mossy Beds, they waste away, In gentle Joys the Night, in Vows the Day.

What Marks of wond'rous Clemency I've shown, Some Rev'rend Worthies of the Gown can own. Triumphant Plenty, with a chearful Grace, Basks in their Eyes, and sparkles in their Face. How sleek their Looks, how goodly is their Mien, When big they strut behind a double Chin. Each Faculty in Blandishments they lull, Aspiring to be venerably dull. No learn'd Debates molest their downy Trance, Or discompose their pompous Ignorance: But undisturb'd, they loiter Life away, So wither Green and blossom in Decay. Deep sunk in Down they by my gentle Care,

Avoid th'Inclemencies of Morning Air. And leave to tatter'd Crape the Drudgery of Pray'r.

Urim was civil, and not void of Sense, Had Humour, and a courteous Confidence. So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks; The hallow'd Rose declares him Orthodox, He pass'd his easie Hours, instead of Pray'r, In Madrigals, and Phillising the Fair. Constant at Feasts, and each Decorum knew; And soon as the Dessert appear'd, withdrew. Always obliging and without Offence, And fancy'd for his gay Impertinence. But see how ill mistaken Parts succeed; He threw off my Dominion, and would read; Engag'd in Controversie, wrangled well; In Convocation-Language cou'd excel.

In Volumes prov'd the Church without Defence, By nothing guarded but by Providence: How Grace and Moderation disagree; And Violence advances Charity. Thus writ 'till none would read, becoming soon A wretched Scribler, of a rare Buffoon.

Mankind my fond propitious Pow'r has try'd, Too oft to own, too much to be deny'd. And all I ask are Shades and silent Bow'rs, To pass in soft Forgetfullness my Hours. Oft have my Fears some distant Villa chose,

O'er their Quietus where fat Judges dose, And lull their Cough and Conscience to repose: Or if some Cloysters Refuge I implore, Where holy Drones o'er dying Tapers snore: The Peals of Nassau Arms these Eyes unclose, Mine he molests, to give the World Repose. That Ease I offer with Contempt He flies, His Couch a Trench, his Canopy the Skies. Nor Climes nor Seasons his Resolves controul, Th' Æquator has no Heat, no Ice the Pole. With Arms resistless o'er the Globe he flies; And leaves to Jove the Empire o' the Skies.

But as the slothful God to yawn begun, He shook off the dull Mist, and thus went on.

'Twas in this rev'rend Dome I sought Repose, These Walls were that Asylum I had chose.

Here have I rul'd long undisturb'd with Broils, And laugh'd at Heroes, and their glorious Toils. My Annals are in mouldy Mildews wrought, With easie Insignificance of Thought. But now some busie, enterprizing Brain

Invents new Fancies to renew my Pain, And labours to dissolve my easie Reign.

With that, the God his darling Phantom calls, And from his falt'ring Lips this Message falls:

Since Mortals will dispute my Pow'r, I'll try Who has the greatest Empire, they or I. Find Envy out, some Prince's Court attend, Most likely there you'll meet the famish'd Fiend. Or where dull Criticks Author's Fate foretell; Or where stale Maids or meager Eunuchs dwell. Tell the Bleak Fury what new Projects reign, Among the Homicides of Warwick-Lane. And what th' Event, unless the strait enclines To blast their Hopes, and baffle their Designs.

More he had spoke, but sudden Vapours rise, And with their silken Cords tie down his Eyes.

Canto II.

THE

DISPENSARY

CANTO II.

SOON as the Ev'ning veil'd the Mountains Heads, And Winds lay hush'd in subterranean Beds; Whilst sick'ning Flow'rs drink up the Silver Dew, And Beaus, for some Assembly, dress anew; The City Saints to Pray'rs and Play-house haste; The Rich to Dinner, and the Poor to Rest: Officious Phantom then prepar'd with Care To slide on tender Pinions through the Air. Oft he attempts the Summit of a Rock, And oft the Hollow of some blasted Oak; At length approaching where bleak Envy lay, The hissing of her Snakes proclaim'd the way.

Beneath the gloomy Covert of an Yew, That taints the Grass with sickly Sweats of Dew; No verdant Beauty entertains the Sight, But baneful Hemlock, and cold Aconite;

In a dark Grott the baleful Haggard lay, Breathing black Vengeance, and infecting Day. But how deform'd, and worn with spightful Woes, When Accius has Applause Dorsennus shows. The cheerful Blood her meager Cheeks forsook, And Balilisks sate Brooding in her Look. A bald and bloated Toad-stool rais'd her Head; The Plumes of boding Ravens were her Bed. From her chapp'd Nostrils scalding Torrents fall, And her sunk Eyes boil o'er in Floods of Gall. Volcano's labour thus with inward Pains, Whilst Seas of melted Oar lay waste the Plains.

Around the Fiend in hideous Order sate Foul bawling Infamy, and bold Debate: Gruff Discontent, thro' Ignorance mis-led, And clam'rous Faction at her Party's Head: Restless Sedition still dissembling Fear, And sly Hypocrisie with Pious Leer.

Glouting with sullen Spight the Fury shook Her clotter'd Locks, and blasted with each Look, Then tore with canker'd Teeth the pregnant Scrolls, Where Fame the Acts of Demy-Gods enrolls, And as the rent Records in pieces fell, Each Scrap did some Immortal Action tell.

This show'd; how fix'd as Fate Torquatus stood, That, the fam'd Passage of the Granick Flood; The Julian Eagles, here, their Wings display, And there, like setting Stars, the Decii lay; This does Camillas as a God extol, That points at Manlius in the Capitol;

How Cochles did the Tybers Surges brave, How Curtius plung'd into the gaping Grave; Great Cyrus, here, the Medes and Persians join, And, there, th' immortal Battle of the Boyn.

As the light Messenger the Fury spy'd, A while his crudling Blood forgot to glide; Confusion on his fainting Vitals hung, And falt'ring Accents flutter'd on his Tongue, At length, assuming Courage, he convey'd His Errand, then he shrunk into a Shade.

The Hag lay long revolving what might be The blest Event of such an Embassie. Then blazons in dread Smiles her hideous Form, So Light'ning gilds the unrelenting Storm. Thus she——Mankind are bless'd, they riot still Unbounded in Exorbitance of Ill By Devastation the rough Warrior gains, And Farmers fatten most when Famine reigns; For sickly Seasons the Physicians wait, And Politicians thrive in Broils of State. The Lover's easie when the Fair One sighs, And Gods subsist not but by Sacrifice.

Each other Being some Indulgence knows; Few are my Joys, but infinite my Woes. My present Pain Britannias Genius wills, And thus the Fates record my future Ills.

A Heroine shall Albions Scepter bear, With Arms shall vanquish Earth, and Heav'n with Pray'r.

She on the World her Clemency shall show'r And only to preserve, exert her Pow'r. Tyrants shall then their impious Aims forbear, And Blenheims Thunder, more than Ætnas, fear.

Since by no Arts I therefore can defeat The happy Enterprizes of the Great, I'll calmly stoop to more inferior Things; And try if my lov'd Snakes have Teeth or Stings.

She said: and strait shrill Colons Person took, In Morals loose, but most precise in Look. Black-Fryars Annals lately pleas'd to call Him Warden of Apothecaries-Hall. And, when so dignify'd, did not forbear

That Operation which the Learn'd declare Gives Cholicks ease, and makes the Ladies fair. In trifling Show his Tinsel Talent lies, And Form the want of Intellects supplies. In Aspect grand and goodly He appears, Rever'd as Patriarchs in primæval Years. Hourly his Learn'd Impertinence affords A barren Superfluity of Words. The Patient's Ears remorseless he assails, Murthers with Jargon where his Med'cine fails.

The Fury thus assuming Colons Grace, So flung her Arms, so shuffl'd in her Pace. Onward she hastens to the fam'd Abodes, Where Horoscope invokes th'infernal Gods;

And reach'd the Mansion where the Vulgar run, For Ruin throng, and pay to be undone.

This Visionarie various Projects tries, And knows that to be Rich is to be Wise. By useful Observations he can tell The sacred Charms, that in true Sterling dwell. How Gold makes a Patrician of a Slave, A Dwarf an Atlas, a Thersites brave. It cancels all Defects, and in their Place Finds Sense in Br——, Charms in Lady G—— It guides the Fancy and directs the Mind; No Bankrupt ever found a Fair One kind.

So truly Horoscope its Virtue knows, To this lov'd Idol 'tis, alone, he bows; And fancies such bright Heraldry can prove, The vile Plebeian but the third from Jove.

Long has he been of that amphibious Fry, Bold to Prescribe, and busie to Apply. His Shop the gazing Vulgar's Eyes employs With Foreign Trinkets, and Domestick Toys.