ODE XI[141]
To the Philadelphia Doctors
"And the Angel Michael disputed with the Devil about the body of Moses."—Ancient History.
"To bleed or not to bleed—that is the question!
Whether 'tis better in our beds to suffer
The slights and snufflings of outrageous doctors,
Or by the Lancet—quit them."
In ancient days divines, in dismal humour,
With disputation kept the presses going;
Wrangled about some wonderous mighty things
The difference "'twixt a shadow and a shade,"
And scribbled much of "way of man with maid."
At length, as fades the crown
Their bludgeons they lay down;
And you, wise doctors, take the wrangle up,
Each cursing all who will not drink his cup.
Ah, Philadelphians! still to knaves a prey,
Take your old philosophic way;
When from the native spring you seiz'd your draught,
Health bloom'd on every face, and all was gay—
Dejection was remote—and Nature laugh'd.
A question now, of mighty weight is put,
Whether, to bleed a man is best, or not,
When scarce three drops (or not one drop) remains
In the poor devil's veins!—
Well! you decide, who are in Galen read—
Take Boorhaave's, if you please—whatever system—
(Why are men such that doctors can enlist 'em?)
Whether your methods be the right or wrong,
And man's existence shorten or prolong,
We feverish fellows, must be—put to bed.
The secret has leak'd out—be cautious doctors
(The whole shall be disclos'd in room with lock'd doors)
Old women, with their simple herbs and teas
(And asking hardly two-pence for their fees)
Disarm this dreadful epidemic fever;
Make it as tame and innocent,
(Whether home-bred or from West Indies sent)
As Continental soldier, turn'd to Weaver.