All their vile trash detect, and their low tricks expose.
Perhaps their numbers may in time confound
Their arts—as scorpions give themselves the wound:
For, when these curers dwell in every place,
While of the cured we not a man can trace,
Strong truth may then the public mind persuade,
And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade.
FOOTNOTES:
Opiferque per orbem