But something yet remains to know:—
To manage two strings to your bow,
A maxim is, which ev'ry age
Has rend'red venerably sage,
And forms a more than useful rule
In the world's universal school.
Sir Jeffery, we make no doubt,
In various ways had found it out:
It might have help'd him on to wealth,
And now to aid the wants of health, |
He kept the adage in his view,
And as one Doctor might not do,
It now appears that he had two. | } |
The one, in order due, has been
Brought forth on the dramatic scene,
Ranks high in bright collegiate fame,
And M. D. decorates his name.
He never ventures to prescribe
But what is known to all the tribe,
Who hold the dispensarial reign
Beneath the dome of Warwick-Lane.
The other, steering from the track
Of learned lore, was styl'd a Quack;
Who, by a secret skill, composes
For many an ill his sovereign doses:
But whether right or wrong, the town
Had given his nostrums some renown.
Salves for all wounds, for each disease
Specifics that could give it ease,
Balsams, beyond all human praise,
That would prolong our mortal days.
All these, in many a puffing paper,
Are seen in striking forms to vapour,
As, in the Magazines they shine,
The boast of Doctor Anodyne.
His office was advice to give
In his own house from morn till eve,
And a green door, within a court,
Mark'd out the place of snug resort,
Where patients could indulge the feeling
That might dispose them to concealing
The nervous hope, the sly desire
To eke out life's expiring fire,
Without the danger to expose
Their secret or to friends or foes.
Sir Jeffery was one of these
Who thought it was no waste of fees,
Though they were toss'd about by stealth,
If he could think they purchas'd health:
But here, who will not say, it seems
He guarded life by two extremes.
Sir Midriff told him he must starve,
And Anodyne to cut and carve:
But though the first he nobly paid,
It was the latter he obey'd.
Full often was his Merc'ry sent
To bring back med'cine and content; |
Permission, what he wish'd, to eat,
And physic to allay the heat
Brought on by a luxurious treat; | } |
To give the stomach strength to bear it,
With some enliv'ning dose to cheer it.
But still our Hero's watchful eye
Saw that this sensuality
Was bringing matters to an end,
That he too soon should lose his friend;
And in what way he should supply
The loss when that same friend should die,
Did often o'er his senses creep
When he should have been fast asleep.
Sir Midriff to his promise swore,
And Anodyne had promis'd more,
Both had prescrib'd or more or less,
A future vision of success:
But time has still some steps to move,
Before they their engagements prove;
Ere our Quæ Genus we shall see
In a new line of history. |
| |
Sir Jeffery now began to droop,
Nor was he eager for his soup: |
He blunder'd on the wrong ragout,
Nor harangu'd o'er a fav'rite stew,
Scarce wild-duck from a widgeon knew. | } |
No longer thought it an abuse,
To see St. Mich: without a goose.
Unless prepar'd with cordial strong,
He hardly heard the jovial song,
Or hearing, had not strength to move
And strike the table to approve.
Nay, sometimes his unsteady hand
Could not the rubied glass command,
But forc'd him slowly to divide
The rosy bumper's flowing tide.
Beside him oft Quæ Genus sat
An hour, and not a word of chat;
And when he was in sleepy taking
The news would scarcely keep him waking. |