Gideon's fleece, or, The Sieur de Frisk an heroick poem, written on the cursory perusal of a late book, call'd The conclave of physicians / by a friend to the muses.

Gideon's Fleece: AN HEROIC POEM. WHen Iſr'el had done Evil in God's ſight, And he his Scourge had made the Midianite; When ſev'n years Yoke and Bondage, heavy grew, Enough to break the ſtiff neck of a Jew: Then Gideon, alias Jerubbaal, liv'd, One of Manaſſe's Tribe, that then was griev'd, And by the hand of Midian ſore oppreſt, Deſpair'd of ſafety more than all the reſt. Poor in his Family, and he the leaſt Of all his Fathers Houſe, that made a Feaſt Of Broth to treat an Angel, to whoſe lot Did fall the Preſent of a Porridge-pot, A Preſent well accepted, 'twas the Mind More than the Gift, the Angel made ſo kind. A Threſher not profeſt, but out of need, Joaſh his Son, of Abiezer's breed. A mean Eſtate good Gideon did confine, Is apt to make a bad one more repine, Fret, that deſert, and learned men do thrive, When he ſcarce, with the P. knows how to live, 'Twas Naboth's Vineyard Ahab did invite, And Envy mov'd this ſpiteful Benjamite, To rail at Isr'els mighty Men, when he A Muſhroom is, and ever like to be. Had the wiſe whining Yelper been but quiet, Minded his Broth and Porridge pot, his Diet, His picque and malice then had ne'er been known, Or that no fleſh remained on his bone, But ſince he loves the word, Ʋnmask'd, the ſame Dreſs does become both Venus, and his Name. 'Twas Wheat was threſht by Gideon Iſra'lite, But men are ſo by Giddy Benjamite, Men, whom the world deſervedly admire, And cannot by ſo blunt a Tool, expire, Men in the threſhing put to ſo much pain, As Giddy ſpeaks a Threſher, not in grain; Romantic, frantic, antic giddy brain, Ne're did the like, nor e're can do again, An Andrew that wou'd well become a Stage Had he more Wit, and leſs of Spleen and rage. But 'tis what's natural in Spleen-diſeaſe To have a dullneſs on the Body ſeiſe, And thoſe have fits of Frenzy, and of Folly, That are oppreſt with Flatus-Melancholly, Spiteful, Complaining, ne're content with what God's Providence deſigneth for their Lot; Malicious, Envious, ſelf-conceited, proud, Do their own Praiſe, and Folly ſound aloud, Peeviſh and fretting at anothers Good, The true Effects of ſalt, and ſower blood, Moroſe, revengeful, ſullen, fierce, elate, Still grudging at anothers proſp'rous State; Vain-glorious, truculent, puff'd up with pride, Think they know more, than all the world beſide. Theſe Fruits grow on an Hypochondriac man, His Temper brings 'em forth, do what he can; The Cure is Conſultation, 'tis too great For any Hocus to do ſuch a feat, 'Tis the concern of skilful men, well read, To touch This Hydra's or Meduſa's head, And he that but Pretender is to Art, Had better to a Conclave Griefs impart, Than vent ſo much ſcurrility and pride, And think he does behind a Introduct. Curtain hide, Who wou'd effect the Cure by Hellebore, And ſend him to Anticyra for more. Can any think but Sieur de Frisk is frantic, When he condemns another for p. 185. Romantic? Or can that man excuſe him from a fiction, That well obſerves his p. 173. Manner of adſtriction? Can't his Vulcanian Courſe, Philoſophie Of Staples, Stakes, and Pipe-ſtaves mention'd, 173.174.175. vye With any part of Monſieur Scudery? As if an Atome, or part minimal, Cou'd be a Wyth, or Stake, at any call; Or what determin'd was to humane ſhape Cou'd be a Monkey, or his Jackenape. Of what dimenſions muſt that Atome be Whoſe Figure with a Staple does agree, What was ſo long impenetrable known Is ſoften'd now, and flexible is grown. Figures immutable, what makes the Change Not leſs intelligible, than 'tis ſtrange? Simples, I mean, of which Compounds partake, Muſt be of certain Form, and priſtine make. And I ſhould think that it were eaſier far For any Child to bend an Iron Bar, Than for an Atom to be turn'd, or bent, By any force, leſs than Omnipotent. Muſt not the Staple alway ſo endure, What can agen its ſtreightneſs reprocure? You'l ſay, the ſame force crook't it firſt with eaſe Can make it ſtreight again, when e're it pleaſe; Pretty! but here is doing and undoing, Much like a former Matrons formal wooing, Backward, and forward, pro and con, you ſee In Vulcans Shop the Chaſt Penelope: And I ſhou'd think the Staple muſt ſtand bent, Altho', perhaps, the ſalt-ſtake may relent. Here better may be ſaid, p. 196. riſum teneatis? If you can dance, the Fiddle you have gratis, And if the Pipes ſweet melody but aid, Stiff-ſtakes will caper too, I am afraid. But ſhould I harken longer to this Muſick I ſhould forget Philoſophy, and Phyſick, Smiling a little while I now proceed Upon this doughty Champion's doughtier deed. Can any read this weak Mechanick prater, And not ſay, that he is the p. 199. Innovator, p. 196. Will with a Wiſp, whoſe blazeing light intices Out of the common way with ſtrange p. 186. Caprices, Which if you follow, more truth will be miſt, Than any other p. 197. Jatroſophiſt. Is this the man will not be lov'd but fear'd, That plucks the hair off a dead Lions beard? Drivels as if he ſtill were chewing Maſtic, Moiſture as Excremental, as p. 194. Phantaſtic? Is this the man, or rather Gut Jejune, To ſet all mankind right and into tune? p. 120.Can Rules and Remedies of Phyſick put (As Homer's Iliads ſometime in a Nut) Into one Sheet, on which all men (no leſs) With greater ſafety, ſpeed, and good ſucceſs, May more depend, ſecurely more rely, Than beſt pretenders to Anatomy? Is this the ancient p. 95. Method up to cry, To pinion Method, that ſhou'd freely fly? Or the Dogmatic Curer to aſſiſt Againſt a Quack, or p. 100 Pſeudo-methodiſt? That is, that will not travel in his way p. 186. Novel or antique (antick I ſhou'd ſay.) p. 82. Good God! with what a bold, and brazen-face, Do ſome men labour others to diſgrace, Make any Method of that Brat the Father, That is not Method, but is Quacking rather; And yet theſe men to Method can pretend, But tis no longer than 'twill ſerve their end, Be down-right Quack, and Methodiſt together, As rain, and ſtorm, in Sun ſhine; twiſted weather. Is this the man that does ſo p 21 • . 211. featly prate Of what will purge, fix, and precipitate, All in a breath? a Febrifugue ſo fine, So much a Pearl, too good for Conclave Swine, 16 • . Ducklings can laugh, at what will purge and fix, And may precipitate, but down to Styx. Ducklings a better name can never lack, Duckling the beſt, becauſe a Duck crys Quack. But to return, and here a little write, To do an abſent man a job of right, Famous at home, abroad almoſt ador'd, Who do's for praiſe an ample field afford. Can any think ſo mean of Doctor Willis But one that's meaner much, and much more ſilly is, That he ſhou'd lay ſo great a ſtreſs upon p. 172. Two caſes, in a great Phaenomenon? As for the Mothers, and the Daughters ſake, To raiſe in his own Spleen an Ague-cake? Fix that Diſeaſe on Principles unſound, That with one Frisk are tumbled to the ground, p. 193. And this on Hear-ſay? no man can diſpenſe With ſo much Malice, and ſo little Senſe. Did not this Great man often ponder, when He thought of any thing he had to pen, Caſt much about, conſider many Caſes, Take Practic turns, joyn'd with Theoric-paces? Confer and lay up many things in heap, Firſt whet his Sythe, and then begin to reap? Who knew him better, had a longer knowledge, Than one that ſpent a ſmall time in a Colledge, Will ſay, 'twas ſo, and no man took more care Good workmen, and Materials to prepare: 'Tis true he did Compoſe, and Set alone Wou'd hear another, that conſider on, But that he was Romantic, or was Raſh, No man can ſay, but who deſerves a Laſh Well laid on by one of his own Profeſſion, p. 8.As learn'd a Schoolmaſter, as good Phyſician. But what if this be all the Daughter owns, (Who ſpeaks with honour to the Doctors bones,) That ſhe was once his Patient, that he gave Her Mercury, but never digg'd her grave; That ſhe did ſlumber, far from her laſt ſleep, The very noiſe of which had made her weep, Had diſcompos'd her in a high degree And that from blame ſhe thought the Doctor free. What if the Mother prove much more averſe To what her dead Phyſician may aſperſe? Both ill reſent, and both do much Condemn, Who private ſpeech will make a publick Theme, Heightn'd with all the aggravations can Proceed from an enrag'd, ill-natur'd man, Was not this (thus againſt their wills) a rape, Who both did thus (through mercy) death eſcape. Theſe are the Caſes, credit if you pleaſe, Thus doted on, in a perplext diſeaſe. p. 19. In nomine Domini, can this be the ſame To Honeſty and Conſcience p. 75. lays ſuch claime? p. 15 • . Whoſe ſentiment was ſo far in the right, When three Phyſicians were miſtaken quite; And one ſhou'd tell him ſo, that if he wou'd Subſcribe to them againſt the Patients good, And his own knowledge, he ſhou'd get ſo well. As he can't there expreſs, nor e're ſhould tell. Where's Monſieur Scudery? One of thoſe ſtories, In which an honeſt, but no wiſe-man, Glories. An honeſt man may keep an honeſt Wh— And Conſcience tell one L— but never more. The great Sidleian Star whoſe glorious ray Was as the Sun, enough to make a day, Whoſe ſhining luſtre fil'd an orb it made, Tho' now he bee, (as all men) duſt and ſhade, Set in a Clime from Noxious Vermin clear, And ſhineing bright in Empyrean Sphear, Enough to teach an Envious man to reſt, For envy never haunts a Soul that's bleſt, Painful, and pious, Searching each receſs Of Nature, and the art he did profeſs, Endow'd with ſuch a Soul, that made up all Defects cou'd e'r upon a Body fall; Candid, and Tender of anothers Fame, A good Example ſtill to do the ſame, Deſerv'd much better Language. But the ſport Encourag'd all, expected from the Court, And diſappointed. Thanks my Muſe do's Sing To both a Gracious and ſagacious King, That quickly found, diſlik't, pluck't out the ſting. Knew tho' the word, Aſſociate, on that ſcore Be in Contempt, as ſome have been before, In an opprobrious way, That to apply Unto a Roy • l learn'd Society Was arrogance, attemptible by none But once a Waſpe, and now a ſtingleſs drone. The radiant beames are by reflex divine, Like Moſes Face, that make the Conclave ſhine, May fright profaner men, defend till death From Ʋzzahs touch, and Shimei's ſtinking breath. Who Vilifies what ſtands on Royal Grace, Striking the Child, ſlyes in the Fathers face. The Golden Chryſoſtome, whoſe mouth and Tongue Is one well made, and to'ther ſweetly hung, Or rather the experienc'd Ʋlyſſes, Who's Tongue is tipt with better ſpeech, than His is, Words than the pureſt oyl much ſmoother are, And than the ſweeteſt butter ſofter far, Leaves the drawn ſword to him whoſe arrows ſly, Like plagues, in darkneſs and with ſecrecy. To good effect That ſpent abroad ſome time Saw Men, and Cuſtomes, in another Clime, Brought back the Vertues of a forreign nation, At home well uſed in a higher ſtation, Muſt be traduc'd by Nick-name of p. 110. DETATTLE As if diſcourſing wiſely were to prattle: Ver'ſt in affairs at home, and things abroad, Muſt undergo a Paedagogian Rod, Learned, and well accompliſht, whoſe great ſoul, Some may abuſe, but (juſtly) none Controul; Learning well manag'd is a double grace, 'Tis a good band, and 'tis too a good face. And here I can't but caſt a ſheepiſh eye Upon the Vervex in Anatomie, A double Vervex makes a heavy Buſle, Like Janus bifrons, or the Biceps muſcle: Nabal a Belweather, by a miſchance, Where Fate, not Merit, Cattle do's advance, Is here diſcharg'd, to pick up crumms with Mus, And ſhould love Majeſtie, as well as Puſs. Nabal no Belweather, but a fierce Ram, That butts the flock, and runs at his own Dam. Gideon to Vervex ever lent an eye, That made him pray, his Fleece might once be dry, But here 'tis as the Butcher ey'd the Goat, To bind him firſt, and then to cut his throat. Is the right legg on which an Art do's ſtand A mark of Ignominy, or a brand Of vile reproach? That Art muſt be but Lame, If it can any way deſerve that name, That wants this help to aid, and crutch the ſame. The famed Circle that the blood doth make, The Circuit it do's round the body take, A Circuit that is but a Viſitation, To help each part, and keep it in its ſtation, Diſcoverd by a man, whoſe very name To haters of Anatomy's a ſhame, We juſtly owe to this Induſtrious art, Declares the blood comes from, flows to the Heart. Next to the Circulation I may place Whats near of kin, and much of the ſame race, That do's promote the motion of the blood, A Muſcle not yet throwly underſtood, Protrudes it to the place where 'tis deſign'd Arterial blood to Venal muſt be joyn'd, Eaſes the thought, with what prodigious art The blood can move ſo ſoon to every part. The Pulſe that (heretofore) ſate in the throne, Cannot in this affair (now) act alone, But muſt admit this helper to aſſiſt, Diſcover'd by a late Anatomiſt: Whoſe greater pain and care, he beſt can know That ſuch Fatigues agen ſhall undergo; Whoſe buſie head and moſt induſtrious hand Much greater commendation do's command, Haveing that firm, and ſure foundation laid, Art will admire, and only Quacks upbraid. This Muſcle d •• s the arterie inveſt, And ſuffers not Arterial blood to reſt, Which by this means is ever onward preſt, Was never brought to light, till ſearch was made Into what lay ſo long obſcure in ſhade By one yet living▪ ready to maintain What's ſhew'd in Cutts by Willis of the brain, Or lungs, or Stomach, arterie or vein, Chiefly to give the Fabrick of each part, Expects additions from the men of Art. That Knife, and Glaſs, the voyage firſt began That firſt did paſs thoſe ſtreights of Magellan, Don't yet deſpair to ſhew where more things lye Cannot diſpleaſe Friends to diſcovery, Glaſs Pylades, Oreſtes was the Knife, In Products Anatomick, Man and wife. The Milky veins, contain the Chyle that feeds And freſh ſupplies, of blood and ſpirit breeds, Supports the Fabrick that wou'd ſoon decay, Did not new ſtill recruit, what flys away. The duct conveys the Pancreatick juyce, Of ſuch neceſſity, and ſo great uſe, Into the Gutts, fierce Choller to allay That elſe upon thoſe tender parts wou'd prey. The limpid Liquor, where the Nymphs do ſport And all the water-deities reſort, Of Naides, and Hyades the Court; The Nerves, and whence the branches do commence To every part thoſe Spirits to diſpenſe, That quicken motion, and excite the ſenſe, Keeps Nature in the frame, it ſhould be in, And ſhews the hand that moves the work within. Theſe, and beſides much more a numerous train Of parts that make, and wait upon the brain For natures Seeret Service, and command, Are products of an Anatomick hand. Who can this noble, uſeful art defame, Whence ſuch advantages already came? And what may more, 'tis he alone can tell That knows the work, he made himſelf ſo well. What is p. 30. Superfluous, 'tis hard to know, Good Plants among ſo many weeds may grow, That he the weeds muſt move, that has a mind But one good plant of better ſort to find. Can ſuch an one p. 8. a Killing Idol be? If e'r was Alexicacus, tis he. Much greater Ideots then p. 19.5. at Paris are Fools of the firſt rate, any man may ſwear, Who do expect to run a race, or go Without a leg, without a foot or toe, Without this Art, who wou'd Phyſicians be Shall paſs for Fools, or Lunaticks for me. p. 60. A yellow cap becomes his head the beſt, And better much then where 'tis rudely plac'd Inſtead of Velvet on the learned Crown Of one of ſo much honour, and renown. But nothing is too ſawcy for a Prag, Beſpatters men, and thinks he plays the wag, Is neither Horſe, nor Aſs, but (both) a mule, Heady and ſilly, whom the bit muſt rule, Bridle Command and Whip too muſt correct, Who to defame another doth affect. A Chymiſt only makes poyſ'nous projection, A Yomiſt pleas'd with none but Vive diſſection: Launces, or rather butchers men alive, Thinks that alone can make a poor man thrive. To Vervex Iunior ſomething to apply That ſtanches blood from Jugular do's fly, Intended to do greater miſchief far But is but what a Plethora, can ſpare. 'Tis Manual Operation is the Bud Contains, wrapt up within, the greateſt good, Succeeds in Practiſe, to a man of Art, Who knows the whole, can better mend a Part. Phyſician, or Chyrurgion can't be bad, That's skil'd in this, and ſuch great help has had. What if in Practiſe ſome do chance to dye? Was it becauſe the Monſieur was not by: Or if a Tendon punctur'd be or Nerve, (Which yet needs Faith, and credit muſt deſerve) Can ſuch an accident that happens ill Blanch or defame an able Surgeons skill? 'Tis real Knowledge, maugre all diſaſter, Will make a Scholar much out-do a Maſter. But what if what do's for ill Puncture paſs Be nothing but an Eryſipelas? On which a Gangreen may, perhaps, ſur'vene, And turn about the ſtory quite and clean; No Nerve, nor Tendon wounded, or no pain, What then was punctur'd was the Median Vein; And ſo acknowledg'd by p. 43. the man of Art, The firſt did to a Vein, that word impart. Is not a Surgeons Credit punctur'd thus, Aſſaſſin'd by a ſcattering Blunderbuſs? Charg'd with as many Bullets as might kill Twelve men, if manag'd with more wit and skill, But now leſs hurtful then a ſingle Bugg, And all may well concenter in one Slug. Rather look home, and ſay thus, Pater Noſter, Forgive the daily Blunders I do foſter, Stifle and keep from publick view, and ſight, Tho' others here with faults I charge in ſpight, Give Food, and Raiment to a man has none, And when I ask for bread, give not a Stone, Yet if a Stone ſhould ſlip into my gut, I know to whom to go to have it cut, To one, I hope, (tho' him I did abuſe) Will not a Patient penitent refuſe. Charge not Male Practiſe on my younger Age, Nor on my riper years Malicious Rage, From Hatred, Envy, Malice, and the Curſe, Of want of Charity, deliver us. This is a Chriſtian Part, and not to fly On Places gawl'd, or ſtrike men in the eye. The Bell ſounds loud, and rung will never break, Much better plac'd, then on an Emp'ric's neck: That's now in middle State, twix't fear, and hope, Is a Vatinius to a Miroſcope, Yet when he pleaſe, of That pretends the uſe As ſome atonement for a grand abuſe. A Bawble, in another's hand, in His Omnipotent, and a Creator is. Wou'd Par-boile, Bake, wou'd dry, and roaſt enough, But that another man muſt find the ſtuff, Wou'd have the benefit of his own laſh, Cou'd he reach further then a poor Calaſh. Thoſe that are better drawn about in Coaches Are object, ſitted for the worſt reproaches; But n'er the worſe for Rabſhake's great rant, A Poor Phyſician, and a weak Gallant. Had he but what the Fleece deſerv'd, all men Of idle ſcrible wou'd abhor his Pen, A thing of ſuch a foul Prodigious Genus, As far exceeds both great and little Venus. But as a Guerdon, for his Clerkly Pains More wit may be transfus'd into's p. 13. Calfes-brains. p. 188. Shagrin of this concern may ta ••… the care, And Frisk be plagu'd materialls to prepare. Of what great uſe the Microſcope has been, To all Ingenious men is plainly ſeen; And he that laughs at ſo great help as that, Needs not it's aid to magnifie a Bat. p. 135. FAETƲS, the Glory of his Alma Mater, Buoy'd up with fame in Practiſes High water, A Sea-mark, which no Pilot but muſt ſee, And by his means eſcape much miſery, Made for the good of others, and well may Be pitcht upon by every bird of prey: Who tho' thereon he drops his dung, no hurt Comes to this Pillar, high enough from dirt; What e'r is thought of Foetus, that's the Child That has himſelf, and his own Bed defil'd, A hopeful bird, as ravenous, as great, Like a foul Harpie, dungs upon his meat. He that obliged has all human kind, By labouring mans Original to find, His riſe, and growth, and how that Little can Was once a Point, in time become a ſpan, That ſpan a Child, and then that Child a man: Whoſe modeſt skill into thoſe ſecrets ſearcht, That Nature, like a Hawke, kept mew'd, and pearch't, Muſt meet with men inhuman or more plain, With Brutes that rudely will reward ſuch pain: A Book of greater worth, I here engage, Than all the Quacking Scribble of an Age, Venus with all her wandring Train, can't dare With this fixt Star, Luſtre, or Light compare. Another Scene of Mirth muſt be * Morbilli, Sober, and Grave, that calls to mind Barzillai; Aged, and true, who Complements his Art, As loth from it, and it from him, to part; At the ſame diſtance from a p. 8. Weſtern Bumkin, As is a Good Musk-melon, from a Pumkin. Would bring Medicina. the Queen, o're Jordans ſtream, but that His Feet can hardly go at ſuch a rate; Wiſhes her well, and prays no Ill may come By open Violence, or ſecret Doom; Uſeful to many, whoſe great Fame and Skill, His Neighbours longer eares, do vex, and fill. M • s abſent, in his place cannot appear, His Deputie's, p. 135. the Monſieur le Docteur. Sieur Plegmatick, now in his Grave, muſt be Digg'd up again, hang'd in Effigie: p. 110 &c. Branded with all the marks in Head and Hand, Fancy can Forge, or Envy can command: Made the Chief Butt for Arrows were moſt tipt With Pett, and (more) in Malice double dipt. Of whom, what here is fitter to be ſaid, Is, That a Learned Sober man is dead; Ought to have Right, and Priviledge of Reſt, The Magna Charta of all Men deceaſt; Great in his time at Court, and in the City, Stanch in his Judgment, though not madly Witty. His Epitaph, made by a Man of Fame, Whoſe Nature flatly contradicts his Name, Pictor and Poet, does him greater right, Is the beſt Antidote, expels the ſpite, There beſt are read his Parts, and Charity, How far from Baſe, and Sordid Actions free: Grandeur, and Candor, if you pleaſe to hear, Marble can ſpeak, and Stone will make appear, To him that both together ſhall compare, What Contumelies on his Aſhes lye, Sacred and Dear, to all Poſterity. If whipping Cat of Ninetails, or Strappade, Anointed well with Oyl of Baſtinado, Be juſtly due to a true Renegado, What will become of them, that croſs the Seas, To purchaſe Doctor-ſhip at greater eaſe, And, at return, affirm their Muſhrom Skill, Can cure the Men, that greater Art would kill? Turn tail to every thing where they were born, And think That nothing can deſerve, but ſcorn, Compar'd with what the Braggadocio prates, Is had beyond Sea at much cheaper rates. Vaunt their own great Accompliſhments, and Art; As if to all they Science cou'd impart. Theſe wou'd be Bell-weathers, but that 'tis found, The Bell is crack't, or has a crafty ſound. Short horns beſt ſuit ſuch miſchievous ſhrewd kine, That nothing humane have, much leſs Divine; p. 71.Do's ſuch a falſe, and idle Tale rehearſe, As ſhames his Proſe, and ill becomes my Verſe. To give the Painter his true Colours then, The Doctor was deſir'd, or call'd, 'tis ten To one; or on the old ones tir'd Back, A new Diſeaſe might come, with freſh attacque; Carus, or Apoplectick fit may ſmite, And that might make the Painter ſay, p. 75. Good night, When all the fault upon the Jeſuit lies, p. 135. Good man and true! without him no man dies, To whom 'tis malice to aſſign this Function, To cloſe up Eyes, or funge in p. 74. extream Unction. p. 75.Who can report ſix grains of Salt of Amber, Can, but by Frisk be thought, to fill a Chamber- Pot of a Kilderkin? Perhaps, more may Bring Water in great quantity away, So this may ſerve another to expoſe, The matter was not much, what was the Doſe: This was enough to raiſe the Cry, p. 15. Oibo! 'Tis Conclave Cardinals make Urine ſo, The Dogs without, and Introd. Dock-tail'd Currs, do miſs, When they hold up their Crippl'd Legs, to piſs. The ſame Untruth and Malice, you may find, In other things: I haſt to what's behind. To ſhew this Monſieurs picque is general, Spares none, but like to death attacqueth all, Opens at all, falls foul upon a Brother, And wou'd, if ſhe cou'd be a man, his Mother, Sheds Venom on a man of p. 83. Bouncing Fame, A man of great, and yet without, a name; 'Tis not material, ſome body was meant, What he moſt Fancies, whether Dort, or Trent; Trojan or Tyrian, 'tis no matter which, The man muſt ſcratch, if Envy does but itch; Yet from himſelf he draws the greateſt Blood, And that way, if a Witch, may be withſtood; But 'tis no Conjurer, the greateſt need, Is from a Calenture he has to bleed, Paſſing the line, diſtemper'd he is grown, Elſe he the Conclave wou'd have let alone. The thing's too plain for any to paſs by, The foul Harangue of a fine Butterfly; p 50.A famed Norw. Doctor, that ſhou'd ſcour Unto his Patient, in a Coach and four, But for a Butterfly, made ſuch a halt, As made ſoft Fire (he ſays) make ſtinking malt; But what a pretty p. 60, 61. anſwer is there ſaid, By the new Widow, to the Doctor made, Such as is deeply dipt in a Romance, And ſavours much of A-la-mode a France. p. 198.Who to their Inſtitutes a Conclave ſends, Shou'd ſee that Truth Intelligence attends, That he be well informed, and not aſperſe, The living Gown, or the deceaſed Herſe, That famous Perſon was too great, too high, Too wiſe, too ſolid, to regard a fly Domitian-like; when great concerns were near, Then unconcerned, and childiſh to appear; But grant 'twas ſo, the Patient might have dy'd, Before his Wife his Quackſhip cou'd have ſpi'd, Cubb'd in Calaſh, or on a Winged Steed, What e're his haſte was, or how great his ſpeed; Since it did ſo evene, I may ſo ſay, And not predeſtinate mens lives away; Unleſs this may perhaps be in your mind, To fruſtrate means the Fly was then deſign'd; But did not Politicks Divinely erre, That Monſieur was not deſtin'd to be there? Who wou'd have ſcorn'd the Coach, and been the Fly, Put on his Wings, before the Sick ſhould dye. And ſince I name his Quackſhip, 'tis but right, To bring ſome of his Virtues into ſight, His Craft, and his Technologie, to get The Fiſh that will not bite, into his Net. p. 61.Firſt he before him ſendeth out a Scout, To make his way, and bring the thing about; Inſtructs his Emiſſaries, ſends before Such Cattle, then himſelf knocks at the Door; But firſt (deſir'd) his Scout prepares the way, And what an Artiſt this man is, does ſay, Has cured ſuch and ſuch, that were deplor'd, And by his Speech, makes him almoſt ador'd; Then does the Woodcock fall into the Trap, And lives or dies, as good or ill ſhall hap. Works off the former p. 62. Phyſick-man, that he, To kill, may have the greater Liberty; Is petulant, and ſeldom will confer About the Caſe of any p. 5. Sufferer, Without Affront, or Huff, will take a care The man he meets, be juſt of his own hair, No joyning elſe, elſe no way to comply, But Diſcord is the greateſt Harmony. Such Raſcal Deer do oft out ly the Pale, And are not much concerned in the Tale; But if they wanton, or too fat do grow, The Keeper then muſt uſe his Gun or Bow. p. 90.The Nail well CLENCHED on the other ſide, Faſt rivetted, will ever ſo abide, Cannot be drawn, untill his Pincers come, That for another left ſo little room; A Nail that's driven with ſo great a ſtroke, As might one of the Brother-hood provoke; Iſma'l, contentious Member, rotten Limb, Conclave, and Quack, are jointly met in him: To whom I wiſh a Temper free from ſtealing, Leſs of the Quack, and more of fairer dealing; Or, if he wants an Office, I'd prefer To be the Conclaves Annual Scavenger, Provided he himſelf did well demean, Not make more foul, the place he ſhould keep clean. p 147.The next Phyſitian to the Houſe that's beſt, In ſpacious Paris, ſacred in the Weſt, Muſt have a flap of Reynards ſtinking Tail, Tho' it to hurt him nothing does avail; 'Twas nothing but becauſe he was not there, Had he but come, h'ad cur'd the Pewt. But being not call'd in, the man was ſlain, Unhappy much, beyond a Country Swain; Two Planets ( p. 148. Saturnine) preſage his Death, When he alone propitious was to Breath; Cou'd give the Leaſe of Life a longer date, Cou'd parly Death, and give a check to Fate, Cou'd be the beſt directing Cynoſure, And knew the thing, did never fail to Cure. Were p. 91. Ruſſia Diſcipline now uſed here, He wou'd his ſhare of Juſtice have, I fear, Whoſe longer Practiſe ne're can Maiden be, As an Aſſize from Execution free. Had ſuch a Cuſtom been in England, then He never now had rail'd at better men; Had been a Sufferer by Lex Talionis, And no body had taken out de Bonis. This only wou'd notabile have been, And he out of a conſtant courſe of ſin. But ſince he lives to caſt that in the Diſh Of one, has greater Fame than he cou'd wiſh, I hope all Men will laugh, and no man vex At the fly trick of ſuch a Carnifex. A fatal Error, there, perhaps might be Unknown to him, caus'd that Cataſtrophe, Or time appointed, which God only knows, Without a Fault, the Patients Eyes might cloſe, Which here I leave to men of Art that know What As'rum 'Roots, and Ruckthorne Syrup do; Only ſuggeſt Scammoniats, and Mercurials, Have made more Slaughter, and procured more Burials. Theſe are the marks this Monſieur levels at, Too free in Cenſure, ever to be fat, In ſcribling ſpends himſelf: Thus Rabbits play, Much rain, and frisking waſhes Fat away. If any more his venom'd Arrows hit▪ For I did only caſt an Eye on it; Never have Patience Libels to peruſe, That Learned Men, and Worthy do abuſe: Never approve in Poetry, or Proſe, To hang a man, unleſs 'tis by the Noſe, He that lets looſe a Bull-dog pen on man, Will cut his Throat, when e're he fairly can. Credit is next to Life, nay, greater Bliſs, A better Being, than bare Being is: Who, unprovok't, another ſets upon, 'Tis ten to one is ſcratcht, if not undone. To any toucht, if I have not done right, I will next time Tarantula does bite, Next Caper's cut, or the next frisk is made, And now retire from Sun ſhine into ſhade, To meditate upon a Hackny Jade. Firſt from the Worthier men their Pardon crave Beneath deſert, if treated 'em I have. Here Gemini the Conſtellation ſhines, Simeon with Levi force together joyns; p. 14. Simeon the Doctor does in Van appear, Levi the Surgeon marches in the rear, Commanded by de Frisk, all three attaque, And joyntly leap upon anothers back. Had not this Doctor better ſtaid at home, Then come abroad to carp, and play the Mome; Whoſe Haunches wou'd much better fill a Chair, Then play ſuch pranks, ſcarce here accounted fair, Beneath the worth and place of a Profeſſor, To favour Trigg, or Culpeppers Succeſſor. Levi the younger Tribe, and much more dull, Famous for little Brain, and a thick Skull; Who ſhews his Teeth, that are too blunt to bite, And hates what he ſhould be, an Iſra'lite, The Junior Vervex is the likelieſt man, Levy's full inch-thick Cranium to Trepan, VVhere can no danger be of hurt to Brain, Much like a Rabbets, when the Moons in VVain. Levi the Curſed Cow with her ſhort Horns, May cure a Penſil wart, and cut mens Cornes, But if you look for one of greater Art, Gideon can tell where Vervex keeps his mart. And here I may both Proſe and Poem joyn, Embarked in almoſt the ſame deſign, Profane, Traducing, Dull, in every line; Proſe without Grace, and Poems without Wit, Are like a rotten Nut has nought in it, When Magot has devour'd the Kernel, then The Empty ſhell is not fit Food for Men. Were I to chuſe what man I thought the beſt, And among Poets Saul above the reſt; I ne're ſhould think a Self-conceited thing Cou'd be of very Poetasters King; I rather like a Modeſt Muſe, that hears, What others ſay, and at them pricks her ears, Then a damn'd Porcupine, whoſe venom'd quill, Can ſhed the Blood of whom he pleaſe to kill. Is't Wit or Wile, I'd ask a ſordid Muſe, In Proſer, or in Poet, to abuſe? Here now my Muſe, wou'd take a little reſt, Claiming what others want, quieta eſt. (After a little Pauſe.) She's now refreſh't, and travels on before ye, Into ſome other parts of Sacred Story. When Iſra'l was to try the mighty band Of his Almighty Sovereigns Command, To cauſe the force of Midian to retreat, And with 300 a great hoſt defeat; Then Gideon pray'd, a Fleece, if dry, might be A Signal promiſe of a Victory; His ſuit was granted; Fleece was dry; on all The Ground about a mighty dew did fall. 'Tis now no miracle, the Fleece is dry, Gideon can ſhew't without a Prodigy. And to its dryneſs you may add, 'tis light, With Pores well ſtufft with Drollery, and Spite: Who ought of Argument in it can meet, Had need of Eyes that are not dim to ſee't. No Vein but railing, and of Nerves not one Is to be found in this dry Sceleton: The Viſcera are all become one Spleen, Nought elſe but That, and Lungs are to be ſeen; Nought elſe does fill the Cavity below, Except that part whence bitter Gall does flow. Jejunum does appear the greateſt Gut, Ileon, and Colon, are in Caecum put, Caecum's the Babies Rectum too, the Blind Gu •••… ſo cramm'd, it leaves a ſtink behind, A ſtink does to the Infant moſt adhere, Who does himſelf with his own Dung beſmere. The Brain ſo little, and its bulk ſo ſmall, Is next of kin to what is none at all; And eaſie 'tis to think, a thing that's dull Can come from none, but from an empty Skull. Yet that which greateſt therein I do ſee, Is what is call'd R • te mirabile. A Net well bird-lim'd, ſpred with a Deſign To haſten work, and multiply the Coin. This was a Voyage for the Golden Fleece, Attempted by a flock of gaggling Geeſe: Not ſuch as ſav'd Romes Capitol from harm, But ſuch as Colchos were reſolv'd to ſtorm. A Crew of Sea-men, ſtrong and luſty Louts, And Jaſon there, Chief of the Argonauts. But ſtay—— 'Tis not the taking ſome Outlandiſh Air, Can make a man accompliſht home repair, Unleſs the Root be in him, no good Fruit Can be expected; 'Tis a better Brute, A Stallion dreſt with Ribbon, ſo well bred, To leape a Common Brain, and Vulgar Head. A pair of Whiskers, and the Sieur de Frisk, Make Art no greater, tho' the man more brisk; Some Tranſmarine, tho' Hoſpital Phyſicians Have no more Skill than Vagabond Muſicians; 'Tis Judgment to the Mill that brings the Griſt; The Butcher ſees more than th' Anatomiſt; Things too familiar ſeldome will grow big; A Grocers Prentice ſcarce will touch a Fig; And tho' the Traveller the Cogg more mind, The home-bred duſty-pole more Corn will grind. Phyſick, and all the Care of It is vaniſh't, Out of that Breaſt wou'd have Phyſicians baniſh't; p 114.Writes Bodin, Sueton, Seneca ſay thus, Quintilian alſo, and Herodotus; If they a Barb'rous action but relate, The ſame is laudable in his wiſepate; And what in Foreign parts inhumane was, Muſt every where as practicable paſs, Becauſe Some ſuit not with a peeviſh mind, To All in general he'l prove unkind, Taking a Pet (perhaps) at Two or Three, Extend his Rage to all the Faculty: Rip up the Bowels, that himſelf have born, And Nero-like, expoſe to view and ſcorn: But this does too great Honour to him lend, Med'cin no Viper is, nor bare this Fiend; An Aſiatick Monſter, Meager, Slender, Got where wild Beaſts come down to Drink, and Gender. 'Tis beſt this way an Artiſt to become, And this the beſt Anatomy to Some. Who, if they bring this Cuſtom into faſhion, Should be the firſt are baniſht from the Nation; Were all like him to Phyſick did pretend, Moſt wou'd be plea'sd it might have ſuch an end. Can any think this probable can be; Introd. New Obſervations in Anatomy Shou'd be diſcovered more by one than all The num'rous Conclave, Pope, and Cardinal? And yet this man Diſſection to purſue, With all the Malice to a Caitiff due; Here's a plain Surfet taken of a Knife, Too much of Pride, too little of a Wife Perverteth Judgment, and Debauches Life. Heroſtratus, a Temple did inflame, To ſee if that way he cou'd raiſe a name: And 'tis the Province of a ſneaking Drabb To lend ſometimes Authority a ſtabb: 'Tis a great ſtep to an Egregious Knave, At one time to attaque a whole Conclave: And tho' the care be great of Guard and Welt, The blow may be, when unexpected, felt. A Suburb-Cat ſhould mind no City-Mice; Diſtemper'd Perſons need the moſt advice, A Name ſo great, ſo famous, ceaſe to wear, Or to abuſe his Conclave, Quack! forbear; And that of Gideon evermore decline, Or, under meaner Fortune, ceaſe to whine. He that would live in Calm, and reſt in Shade, Muſt not anothers Name or Fame invade; For who an ill Aggreſſor once is found, Is ever plagu'd ſtill to make good bad Ground. Who loves to contradict anothers ſenſe, May that way Doctor Singular Commence, Live an uneaſie Life, and when he dies, Have this Inſcrib'd, p 135. Doctor of Contraries. But to go on with a brisk Gale and Tyde, And after Safely at an Anchor ride; Breath of good men, not to uſurp, but gain, Saluted Admiral upon the main, Top and Top gallant, Pendant, Streamer wear, Is that which Contradiction cannot bear. Roughneſs one Creature claims as a true mark, And Curs may have a property to bark, Shapeleſs is one, and ſnarling is the other; Diff'rent in kind, in rudeneſs each a Brother. Honour is not in him that does receive, But better plac'd in him, that does it give; He is the Fountain whence Reſpect does flow; The Man is but a rivulet below, Damn'd up, or ſtopp'd, by every waſh, or fall Of a great Tide, or of a rotten Wall. The beſt advance is by Humility, And none can make ſo great a Leap, as he That firſt retreats, and then comes on more fierce, Fetches it further, than I can rehearſe. I ne're the better am, if ten be bad, Nor can one Vertue in their Vice be had. I may a bitter envious mind expreſs, And thereby make my ſelf ſo much the leſs But if I wou'd Auguſt and Great appear, I'd not deſerve, or no mans Cenſure fear: Cenſure but few; not count my ſelf the beſt, He that Connives is ſooner at his reſt. 'Tis an ill way to be a man of p. 158. Note, To take all men he meets with by the Throat; Expoſe with all the fouleſt Play he had, VVhat, with a fair Conſtruction, can't be bad; VVere all due Circumſtances weigh'd and clear, The Charge wou'd not ſo terrible appear: But when one ſo much envious freedom takes, Cenſures but what himſelf obſerves and makes; 'Tis ill to bring ſuch Mormo's into ſight, And then with them himſelf, and others fright, Lay Death and Slaughter at anothers door, That is as far from that, as being poor. Firſt make a Body of Abſurdities, Then cloth it with malicious diſguiſe. 'Tis no good Nature, much leſs any Skill, To ſave the Patient, but the Doctor kill, Endeavour, by all means, ſuch to expoſe, Are others Friends, and only are his Foes; Made ſo by Croſsneſs, and a Peeviſh Frame, That will allow none elſe to have a Name. Envy's the worſt Companion e're can be, Embracing, Jvy-like, it kills the Tree; 'Twas Aeacus did wittily Torment, And with ſuch VVit was into Torment ſent; There made a Helliſh Judg, fit for the place, Some ſtill remain of Aeacus's Race: But I can ill allow it to be Wit, Folly enough may be obſerv'd in it; Folly the Wit has ſo much overgrown, That Wit from Folly hardly can be known. Some wore their Eyes abroad, the Story tells, At home were Beetles, Moles, and Dotterels. Candour becomes all men of greateſt Art, Not to be too Severe, or madly Tart; Who makes a Burning-Bull for others fame, Perillus like, muſt periſh in the ſame. A Tyrant can't but this juſt Sentence paſs, Since both are hot, and both are made of Braſs. Heel find two things, whoever ſhall be there, To be a Patient, and a Sufferer; In heat Tormenting that muſt ſuffer ſtill, Let Patience, or Impatience work its will. The Conclave ne're will need, nor fear that Fiend, That in Reproaches does his Talent ſpend; But in Contempt, and plain Defiance ſtands With Envious Quacks, and boaſting p. 107. Scharlatans.