Canto III

ALL Night the Sage in pensive tumults lay,
Complaining of the slow approach of Day;
Oft turn'd him round, and strove to think no
Of what shrill Colon spoke the Day before. [more,
Cowslips and Poppies o're his Eyes he spread,
And S—nd's Works he laid beneath his Head.
But all those Opiats still in vain he tryes,
Sleep's gentle Image his embraces flies.
Tumultuous cares lay rowling in his Breast,
And thus his anxious thoughts the Sage express'd.

The Earth has rowl'd twelve annual turns, and more,
Since first high Heav'ns bright Orbs I've number'd o're.
Such my applause, so mighty my success,
I once thought my Predictions more than guess.
But, doubtful as I am, I'le entertain
This Faith, there can be no mistake in gain.
For the dull World most Honour pay to those
Who on their Understanding most impose.
First Man creates, and then he fears the Elf,
Thus others cheat him not, but he himself:
He loaths the Substance, and he loves the show,
'Tis hard e're to convince a Fool, He's so:
He hates Reallities, and hugs the Cheat,
And still the Pleasure lies in the deceit.
So Meteors flatter with a dazling Dye
Which no existence has, but in the Eye.
Prospects at distance please, but when we're near,
We find but desart Rocks, and fleeting Air.
From Stratagem, to Stratagem we run,
And he knows most who latest is undone.

Mankind one day serene and free appear;
The next, they're cloudy, sullen, and severe:
New Passions, new Opinions still excite,
And what they like at Noon, despise at Night:
They gain with labour, what they quit with ease,
And Health for want of Change grows a Disease.
Religion's bright Authority they dare,
And yet are Slaves to superstitious Fear.
They Counsel others, but themselves deceive,
And tho' they're cozen'd still, they still believe.

Shall I then, who with penetrating sight
Inspect the Springs that guide each appetite;
Who with unfathom'd searches hourly pierce
The dark Recesses of the Universe,
Be passive, whilst the Faculty pretend
Our Charter with unhallow'd hands to rend?
If all the Fiends that in low darkness reign,
Be not the Fictions of a sickly Brain;
That Project, the Dispensary, they call,
Before the Moon can blunt her Horns, shall fall.

With that a glance from mild Aurora's Eyes,
Shoots thro' the Crystal Kingdoms of the Skies;
The Savage Kind in Forests cease to roame,
And Sots o'recharg'd with nauseous Loads reel home.
Light's chearful smiles o're th' azure waste are spread,
And Miss from Inns o' Court bolts out unpaid.
The Sage transported at th' approaching hour,
Imperiously thrice thunder'd on the Floor;
Officious Squirt that moment had access,
His trust was great, his vigilance no less.
To him thus Horoscope.

My kind Companion in this dire affair,
Which is [more light, since thou assum'st a share;
Fly with what hast, thou us'd to do of old,
When Clyster was in danger to be cold:
With expedition on the Beadle call
To summon all the Company to th' Hall.

Away the trusty Coadjutor hies,
Swift as from Phyal steam of Hartshorn flies.
The Magus in the int'rim mumbles o're
Vile terms of Art to some infernal Pow'r,
And draws mysterious Circles on the Floor.
But from the gloomy Vault no glaring Spright,
Ascends to blast the tender bloom of Light.
No mystick sounds from Hell's detested Womb,
In dusky exhalations upwards come.
And now to raise an Altar He decrees,
To that devouring Harpy call'd Disease.
Then Flow'rs in Canisters he hastes to bring,
The wither'd product of a blighted Spring,
With cold Solanum from the Pontick Shoar,
The Roots of Mandrake and black Ellebore.
And on the Structure next he heaps a load,
Of Sassafras in chips and mastick Wood.
Then from the Compter he takes down the File,
And with Prescriptions lights the solemn Pyle.

Feebly the Flames on clumsie Wings aspire,
And smouldring Fogs of smoke benight the Fire.
With sorrow he beheld the sad portent,
Then to the Hag these Orizons he sent.

Disease! thou ever most propitious Pow'r,
Whose soft Indulgence we perceive each Hour;
Thou that woud'st lay whole States and Regions wast,
Sooner than we thy Cormorants shou'd fast;
If, in return, all Diligence we pay
T' extend your Empire, and confirm your Sway,
Far as the weekly Bills can reach around,
From Kent-Street end to fam'd St. Giles's-Pound;
Behold this poor Libation with a Smile,
And let auspicious Light break thro' the Pyle.

He spoke: and on the Pyramid he laid
Bay-Leaves and Vipers Hearts, and thus he said;
As These consume in this mysterious Fire,
So let the curs'd Dispensary expire;
And as Those crackle in the Flames and dye,
So let its Vessels burst, and Glasses flie.
But a sinister Cricket straight was hear'd,
The Altar fell, and th' Off'ring disappear'd.
As the fam'd Wight the Omen did regret,
Squirt brought the News the Company was met.

Nigh where Fleet-Ditch descends in sable Streams,
To wash his sooty Naiads in the Thames;
There stands a Structure on a rising Hill,
Where Tyro's take their Freedom out to kill.
Some Pictures in these dreadful Shambles tell,
How by the Delian God the Pithon fell;
And how Medea did the Philter brew,
That cou'd in Aeson's Veins young force renew;
How sanguine Swains their Amorous Hours repent,
When Pleasure's past, and Pains are permanent;
And how frail Nymphs, oft by abortion aim
To lose a Substance, to preserve a Name.
Soon as each Member in his rank was plac'd,
Th' Assembly Diasenna thus address'd.

My kind Confederates, if my poor intent,
As 'tis sincere, had been but prevalent;
We'd met upon a more serene Design,
And on no other bus'ness but to dine;
The Faculty had still maintain'd their sway,
And int'rest had directed us t'obey;
Then we'd this only emulation known,
Who best cou'd fill his Purse, and thin the Town.
But now from gath'ring Clouds Destruction pours,
And threatens with mad rage our Halcyon Hours:
Mists from black Jealousies the Tempest form,
And late Divisions reinforce the Storm.
Know, when these Feuds, like those at Law, are past,
The Winners will be Losers at the last.
Like Heroes in Sea-Fights we seek Renown,
To Fire some hostile Ship, we Burn our own.
That Jugler which another's Slight will show,
But teaches how the World his own may know.
Thrice happy were those Golden days of old,
When dear as Burgundy, Ptisans were sold.
When Patients chose to dye with better will,
Than live to pay th' Apothecaries Bill.
And cheaper, than for our assistance call,
Might yield to Fine for Sheriff Spring and Fall.
But now late Jars our practices detect,
For Mines, when once discover'd, lose th' Effect
Dissentions, like small Streams, are first begun,
Scarce seen they rise, but gather as they run.
So Lines that from their Parallel decline,
More they advance, the more they still dis-joyn.
'Tis therefore my advice, in haste we send,
And beg the Faculty to be our Friend.
As he revolving stood to speak the rest,
Rough Colocynthis thus his rage express'd.

Thou scandal of the mighty Paeans Art,
At thy approach, the Springs of Nature start,
The Nerves unbrace: Nay at the sight of thee
A Scratch turns Cancer, th' Itch a Leprosie.
Cou'd'st thou propose that we the Friends o' Fates,
Who fill Church-yards, and who unpeople States,
Who baffle Nature, and dispose of Lives,
Whilst Russel, as we please, or starves, or thrives;
Shou'd e're submit to their imperious Will,
Who out o' Consultation scarce can kill?
Th' aspiring Alps shall sooner sink to Vales,
And Leaches, in our Glasses, swell to Whales;
Or Norwich trade in Implements of Steel,
And Bromingham in Stuffs and Druggets deal:
The Sick to th' Hundreds sooner shall repair,
And change the Gravel Pits for Essex Air.
No, no, the Faculty shall soon confess
Our Force encreases, as our Funds grow less;
And what requir'd such Industry to raise,
We'll scatter into nothing as we please.
Thus they'l acknowledge to Annihilate,
Shows as immense a Power as to Create.
We'l raise our num'rous Cohorts, and oppose
The feeble Forces of our Pigmy Foes;
Whole Troops of Quacks shall joyn us on the Place,
From great Kirleus, down to Doctor Case.
Tho' Such vile Rubbish sink, yet we shall rise,
Directors still secure the greatest Prize.
Such poor Supports serve only like a stay,
The Tree once fix'd, its Rest is torn away.
So Patriots, in the times of Peace and Ease,
Forget the Fury of the late Disease:
Imaginary Dangers they Create,
And loath th' Elixir which preserv'd the State.
Arm therefore, gallant Friends, 'tis Honour's call,
Or let us boldly Fight, or bravely Fall.

To this the Session seem'd to give consent,
Much lik'd the War, but dreaded much th' Event.
At length, the growing diff'rence to compose,
Two Brothers nam'd Ascarides arose.
Both had the Volubility of Tongue,
In Meaning faint, but in Opinion strong.
To speak they both assum'd a like pretence,
But th' Elder gain'd his just preeminence;

Then he: 'Tis true when Priviledge and Right
Are once invaded, Honour bids us Fight.
But to the fatal Field before we fly,
We'll first reflect, and then consider why.
Suppose th' unthinking Faculty unvail,
What we, thro' wiser Conduct; wou'd conceal;
Is't Reason we shou'd quarrel with the Glass
That shows the monstrous Features of our Face?
Or grant some grave Pretenders have of late
Thought fit an Innovation to Create;
Soon they'l repent, what rashly they begun,
Tho' Projects please, Projectors are undone.
All Novelties must this success expect;
When good, our Envy; and when bad, neglect:
If things of Use were valu'd, there had been
Some Work-house, where the Monument is seen.
Or if the Voice of Reason cou'd be hear'd,
E're this, triumphal Arches had appear'd.
Then since no Veneration is allow'd,
Or to the real or th' appearing good;
The Project that we vainly apprehend,
Must, as it blindly rose, as vilely end.
Some Members of the Faculty there are,
Who Int'rest prudently to Oaths prefer.
Our Friendship with a servile air they court,
And their Clandestine Arts are our support.
Them we'l Consult about this Enterprise,
And boldly Execute what they Advise.
But from below (whilst such resolves they took)
Some Aurum Fulminans the Fabrick shook.
The Champions daunted at the crack retreat,
Regard their Safety, and their Rage forget.

So thus at Bathos, when the Gyants strove
T'invade the Skies, and wage a War with Iove;
Soon as the Ass of old Silenus bray'd,
The trembling Rebels in confusion fled.