Canto IV

NOT far from that most famous Theater,
Where wandring Punks each Night at five re-
[pair;
Where purple Emperors in Buskins tread,
And rule imaginary Worlds for Bread;
Where Bently by old Writers wealthy grew,
And Briscoe Iately was undone by New:
There triumphs a Physician of Renown;
To scarce a Mortal, but Himself, unknown.
None e're was plac'd more luckily than He,
For th' exercise of such a Mystery.
When Bu—ss deafens all the listning press.
With Peals of most seraphick Emptiness;
Or when Mysterious F—n mounts on high
To preach his Parish to a Lethargy:
This Aesculapius waits hard by to ease
The Martyrs of such Christian Cruelties.

Long has this happy Quarter of the Town,
For Lendness, Wit, and Gallantry been known.
All Sorts meet here, of whatsoe're degree,
To blend and justle into Harmony.
The Politicians of Parnassus prate,
And Poets canvass the affairs of State;
The Cits ne're talk of Trade, and Stock, but tell
How Virgil writ, how bravely Turnus fell.
The Country Dames drive to Hippolito's,
First find a Spark, and after lose a Nose.
The Lawyer for lac'd-Coat the Robe does quit,
He grows a Mad-man, and then turns a Wit.
And in the Cloyster pensive Strephon waits,
Till Chloe's Hackny comes, and then retreats.
And if th' ungenerous Nymph a Shaft lets flie
More fatally than from a sparkling Eye,
Mirmillo, that fam'd Opifer, is nigh.
Th' Apothecaries thither throng to dine,
And want of Elbow-room's supply'd in Wine.
Cloy'd with Variety they surfeit there,
Whilst the wan Patients on thin Gruel fare.
'Twas here the Champions o' th' Party met,
Of their Heroick Enterprize to treat.
Each Heroe a tremendous Air put on,
And stern Mirmillo in these Words begun.

'Tis with concern, my Friends, I meet you here;
No Grievance you can know, but I must share.
'Tis plain, my Int'rest you've advanc'd so long,
Each Fee, tho' I was mute, wou'd find a Tongue.
And in return, tho' I have strove to rend
Those Statutes, which on Oath I should defend;
Yet that's a Trifle to a generous Mind,
Great Services, as great Returns should find.
And you'l perceive, this Hand, when Glory calls,
Can brandish Arms, as well as Urinals.

Oxford and all her passing Bells can tell,
By this Right Arm, what mighty numbers fell.
Whilst others meanly ask'd whole Months to slay,
I oft dispatch'd the Patient in a Day:
With Pen in hand I push'd to that degree,
I scarce had left a Wretch to give a Fee.
Some sell by Laudanum, and some by Steel,
And Death in ambush lay in ev'ry Pill.
For save or slay, this Priviledge we claim,
Tho' Credit suffers, the Reward's the same.
What tho' the Art of Healing we pretend,
He that designs it least, is most a Friend.
Into the right we err, and must confess,
To Oversights we often owe Success.
Thus Bessus got the Battel in the Play,
His glorious Cowardise restor'd the Day.
So the fam'd Grecian Piece ow'd its desert
To Chance, and not the labour'd Stroaks of Art.
Physicians, if they're wise, shou'd never think
Of any other Arms than Pen and Ink.
But th' Enemy, at their expence, shall find,
When Honour calls, I'll scorn to stay behind.

He said; and Seal'd the Engagement with a Kiss,
Which was return'd by th' Younger Askaris;
Who thus advanc'd; Each word, Sir, you impart
Has something Killing in it, like your Art.
How much we to your boundless Friendship owe,
Our Files can speak, and your Prescriptions show.
Your Ink descends in such excessive Showrs,
'Tis plain, you can regard no Health but ours.
Whilst Poor Pretenders trifle o're a Case,
You but appear, and give the Coup de Grace.
O that near Xanthus Banks you had but dwelt,
When Ilium first Achaian Fury felt,
The Flood had curs'd young Peleus Arm in vain,
For troubling his choak'd Streams with heaps of slain.
No Trophies you had left for Greeks to raise,
Their ten Years toil, you'd finish'd in ten Days.
Fate smiles on your Attemps, and when you list,
In vain the Cowards fly, or Brave resist.
Then let us Arm, we need not fear Success,
No labours are too hard for Hercules.
Our military Ensigns we'll display;
Conquest pursues, where Courage leads the way.

To this Design fly Querpo did agree,
A worthless Member of the Faculty;
Drain'd from an Elder's Loins with awkard gust,
In Lees of Stale Hypocrisie and Lust.
His Sire's pretended pious Steps he treads,
And where the Doctor fails, the Saint succeeds.
A Conventicle flesh'd his greener Years,
And his full Age th' envenom'd Rancour shares.
Thus Boys hatch Game Fggs under Birds o' prey,
To make the Fowl more furious for the Fray.

Dull Carus next discover'd his intent,
With much adoe explaining what he meant.
His Spirits stagnate like Cocitus's Flood,
And nought but Calentures can warm his Blood.
In his chill Veins the sluggish Puddle flows,
And loads with lazy Fogs his sable Brows.
The brainless Wretch claims a Preeminence
In setling Lunaticks, and helping Sense.
So when Perfumes their fragrant Scent give o're,
Nought can their Odour, like a Jakes, restore.
When for Advice the vulgar throng, he's found
With lumber o' vile Books besieg'd around.
The gazing Fry acknowledge their Surprize,
Consulting less their Reason than their Eyes.
And He perceives it stands in greater stead,
To furnish well his Classes, than his Head.
Thus a weak State, by wise Distrust, enclines
To num'rous Stores, and Strength in Magazines.
So Fools are always most profuse of Words,
And Cowards never fail of longest Swords.
Abandon'd Authors here a Refuge meet,
And from the World, to Dust and Worms retreat.
Here Dregs and Sediment of Auctions reign,
Refuse of Fares, and Gleanings of Duck-lane;
And up these shelves, much Gothick Lumber climbs'
With Swiss Philosophy, and Danish Rimes.
And hither, rescu'd from the Grocers, come
M—Works entire, and endless Rheams of Bloom.
Where wou'd the long neglected C—s fly,
If bounteous Carus shou'd refuse to buy?
But each vile Scribler's happy on this score,
He'll find some Carus still to read him o're.

Nor must we the obsequious Umbra spare,
Who, soft by Nature, yet declar'd for War.
But when some Rival Pow'r invades on Right,
Flys set on Flys, and Turtles Turtles fight.
Else courteous Umbra to the last had been
Demurely meek, insipidly serene.
With Him, the present still some Virtues have,
The Vain are sprightly, and the Stupid, grave.
The Slothful, negligent; the Foppish neat;
The Lewd are airy, and the Sly discreet.
A Wren's an Eagle, a Baboon a Beau;
C—t a Lycurgus, and a Phocion, R—.

Heroick Ardour now th' Assembly warms,
Each Combatant breaths nothing but Alarms.
And whilst the Scheme for future Glory's laid,
Fam'd Horoscope thus offers to disswade.

Since of each Enterprise th' Event's unknown,
Let's quit the Sword, and hearken to the Gown.
Nigh lives Vagellius, one reputed long,
For Strength of Lungs, and Pliancy of Tongue.
Which way He pleases, he can mould a Cause,
The Worst has Merits, and the Best has Flaws,
Five Guinneas make a Criminal to Day,
And ten to Morrow wipe the Stain away.
Whatever he affirms is undeny'd,
Milo's the Lecher, Clodius th' Homicide.
Cato pernicious, Cataline a Saint,
Or—rd suspected, D—comb innocent.
Let's then to Law, for 'tis by Fate decreed,
Vagellius, and our Mony, shall succeed.
Know, when I first invok'd Disease by Charms
T'assist, and be propitious to our Arms;
Ill Omens did the Sacrifice attend,
Nor wou'd the Sybil from her Grot ascend.

As Horoscope urg'd farther to be heard,
He thus was interrupted by a Bard.

In vain your Magick Mysteries you use,
Such sounds the Sybil's Sacred Ears abuse.
These Lines the pale Divinity shall raise,
Such is the Pow'r of Sound, and Force of Lays.

Arms meet with Arms, Fauchions with Fauchions clash,
And sparks of Fire struck out from Armour flash.
Thick Clouds of Dust contending Warriours raise,
And hideous War o're all the Region brays.

Some raging ran with huge Herculean Clubs,
Some massy Balls of Brass, some mighty Tubs
Of Cynders bore.—

Naked and half burnt Hulls, with hideous wreck,
Affright the Skies, and fry the Oceans back,

High Rocks of Snow, and sailing Hills of Ice,
Against each other with a mighty crash,
Driven by the Winds, in rude rencounter dash.

Blood, Brains, and Limbs the highest Walls distain,
And all around lay squallid Heaps of Slain.

As he went rumbling on, the Fury straight
Crawl'd in, her Limbs cou'd scarce support her Weight.
A noysom Rag her pensive Temples bound,
And faintly her parch'd Lips these Accents sound.

Mortal, how dar'st thou with such Lines address
My awful Seat, and trouble my Recess?
In Essex Marshy Hundreds is a Cell,
Where lazy Fogs, and drissing Vapours dwell:
Thither raw Damps on drooping Wings repair,
And shiv'ring Quartans shake the sickly Air.
There, when fatigu'd, some silent Hours I pass,
And substitute Physicians in my place.
Then dare not, for the future, once rehearse
Th' offensive Discord of such hideous Verse.
But in your Lines let Energy be found,
And learn to rise in Sense, and sink in Sound.
Harsh words, tho' pertinent, uncooth appear,
None please the Fancy, who offend the Ear.
In Sense and Numbers if you wou'd excel,
Read W—y, consider D—den well.
In one, what vigorous turns of Fancy shine,
In th' other, Syrens warble in each Line.
If D—sets sprightly Muse but touch the Lyre,
The Smiles and Graces melt in soft desire,
And little Loves confess their amorous Fire.

The Tyber now no gentle Gallus sees,
But smiling Thames enjoys his N—bys.
And gentle Isis claims the Ivy Crown,
To bind th' immortal Brows of A—son.
As tuneful C—greve trys his rural Strains,
Pan quits the Woods, the list'ning Fawns the Plains;
And Philomel, in Notes like his, complains.
And Britain, since Pausanias was writ,
Knows Spartan Virtue, and Athenian Wit.
When St—ny paints the Godlike Acts of Kings,
Or P—r some Facetious Fancy sings:
The Banks of Rhine a pleas'd Attention show,
And Silver Sequena forgets to flow.

Such just Examples carefully read o're,
Slide without falling, without straining soar.
Oft tho' your Stroaks surprize, you shou'd not choose,
A Theme so mighty for a Virgin Muse.
Long did Apelles his Fam'd Piece decline,
His Alexander was his last Design.
'Tis M—gue's rich Vein alone must prove,
None but a Phidias shou'd attempt a Iove.

She said; and as She vanisht from their Sight,
She cry'd, to Arms; so left the Realms of Light.
The Combatants to th' Enterprize consent,
And the next day smil'd on the great Event.