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Much spoke he of the myrtle and the yew,
Of ghosts that nightly walk the church-yard o'er,
Of storms that through the wint'ry ocean blow
And dash the well-mann'd galley on the shore,200
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Of broad-mouth'd cannons, and the thunderbolt,
Of sieges and convulsions, dearth and fire,
Of poisonous weeds—but seem'd to sneer at these
Who by the laurel o'er him did aspire.
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Then with a hollow voice thus went he on:205
"Get up, and search, and bring, when found, to me,
"Some cordial, potion, or some pleasant draught,
"Sweet, slumb'rous poppy, or the mild Bohea.
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"But hark, my pitying friend!—and, if you can,
"Deceive the grim physician at the door—210
"Bring half the mountain springs—ah! hither bring
"The cold rock water from the shady bower.
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