"Quæ Genus, my regards are thine,
As sure as my name's Anodyne.
—If worth lay in a flatt'ring tongue,
You would not want a service long;
For if you do with caution use it,
Where is the ear that will refuse it?
'Tis but the art how to apply
The well-conceal'd artillery,
And, more or less, the well-told tale
Will o'er the pliant mind prevail.
Your int'rest, friend, I'll not neglect,
Perhaps do more than you expect;
Nay, I e'en may your mind surprise,
When I mark how that int'rest lies;—
But 'tis not where your hopes may look,
'Tis not that page in fortune's book.
—The higher folk who come to me
Are all involv'd in secrecy:
Those who can't walk employ a hack,
When they employ the humble quack:
Hence, no fine carriages resort
About the purlieus of my court,
For the rich owners, with their wealth,
Blush to pass this bye-way to health.
Such is proud fashion's powerful rule
O'er many a purse-proud, titled fool:
They tell me all their sickness claims,
But seem afraid to tell their names.
—There's an old man I sometimes see,
And faith he brings a handsome fee,
Whose hackney always drops his fare
Just by, in the adjoining Square:
Where, when we've clos'd our consultation,
He hobbles to regain his station.
In a loose coat of common wear,
This person chuses to appear;
With his round hat and dingy caxon,
He calls himself a Mr. Jackson;
Though still his manners and his words
Are such as highest rank affords:
And, sure as I e'er gave a puke,
I know the man to be a duke.—
But I, of course, the secret keep,
And let his splendid titles sleep.
—I have two ladies now in hand,
Whose whims and fancies I command:
They tell of humours on the skin,
But then they only shew their chin;
No other part they let me see,
Such is their bashful fantasy.
They seem to think I doubt their graces,
As veils o'erspread their pimpled faces,
So that where'er they chuse to show 'em,
I do not think that I should know 'em.
Yet by their chat they have betray'd,
That one's a wife, and one's a maid:
Nor from the names can they refrain
Of Lady Bell and Lady Jane.
They never fail in their appointments,
And are fast curing by my ointments:
Thus, from their praise, I hope to claim
An added honour to my name. |
Nor are these all; for many more
Of wealth and rank pass through my door;
Though still as I have said before, | } |
They to such aid as mine apply
All mask'd in fearful secrecy.
These whims I have explain'd, to prove
I cannot in this quarter move;
And where I could your worth commend
It would degrade you to attend.
But I shall now unfold to view,
Another chance I have for you:
And let your patience ope its ear
To all you are about to hear. |
| |
"'Tis not to breathe the tonish air
Of Portland-Place, or Grosv'nor-Square,
Or stand behind her Grace's chair: | } |
'Tis not to serve the titled beaux,
And flourish in your master' clothes:
'Tis not, as you are wont, to grace
Some peopled household's highest place,
Though well-accomplish'd as you are,
'Tis chance alone can place you there:
For, through your days, you may not boast
A master such as you have lost;
Nay, your precarious life may end
Before a master proves a friend;
And, after all, old age may come
Without an alms-house for a home.
Think, think in what a woeful plight
The man must live who's pocket's light!
Are not his hours by want depress'd?
Penurious care corrodes his breast;
Without respect, or love, or friends,
His solitary day descends.
O be not led away by pride,
But use the means that may provide
For future wants, when evils press,
And life is pregnant with distress!
Hear me, my friend, nor let surprise
With staring looks burst from your eyes,
When I, in language frank and free,—
Tell you to come and live with me. |
| |
"Think not I want you for a hack,
A serving menial to a quack; |
If to my interests you attend,
You will be treated as a friend.
On this be sure you may depend, | } |
That you will find a better station,
In profit as in inclination,
Than were you hired to be solus
Behind the chair of Doctor Bolus.
—Within a week, perhaps a day,
You'll see the part you have to play.
The man I had, whom you have seen,
Might still beneath this roof have been,
But he by coughing was worn down
To a poor gasping skeleton,
And 'twere not fit I should endure
One in my house I could not cure
He would not prove a tempting sign
To spread the fame of Anodyne:
But in the time he here remain'd,
He had a little fortune gain'd. |
—Your knowledge, which I well can trace,
Is far above a servant's place,
And would a higher station grace. | } |
The pleasing manners you possess,
Your winning speech and nice address,
Might call to your ambitious view,
An higher state than you pursue;
Though still your savings you might waste,
Before you're suited to your taste.
—Such aid as your's I long have wanted,
And if my warm proposal's granted,
You must at once grow wond'rous dull,
Or soon your pocket will be full:
Here, in one year, you will get more
Than with your noble lords in four.
Nay, on the honour of a friend,
Who no deception can intend,
You'll greatly err, if you decline
Such an official place as mine.
—I'll teach you how to cup and bleed;
These operations you will need;
The pulses' movements you shall know,
When they are either high or low:
While other symptoms of disease
I can communicate with ease.
All this, if I the truth discern,
Your ready mind will quickly learn.
Besides 'tis right to let you know
You'll have no nauseous work to do;
For the old woman spreads the blisters,
Rolls up the pills and stirs the clysters.
While 'tis my hand alone composes
The patients' necessary doses,
And your chief care is to dispense
These med'cines with your eloquence.
—But I have sick folk to attend,
So while away an hour, my friend:
And as I trust you'll stay and dine,
We'll close our bargain o'er our wine." |