Why should a Quack be dubb'd, unless it be
That Pois'ning is an Act of Chivalry?
Thus we must own, you have your Thousands flain
With direful Strokes of your refiftless Pen.
By whipping Boys your Cruelty began,
And grew, by bolder Steps, to killing Man.
Juft the Reverse of Dionyfius Fate,
Who fell to flogging Bums, from murd'ring the State.
For both thefe Trades your Genius far unfit,
At length with fawcy Pride afpires to Wit,
Which by pretending to, you more difgrace,
Than toafting Beaus our ancient British Race.
I'th' Mountebank the Afs had laid conceal'd.
But his loud Braying has the Brute reveal❜d.
Such vile Heroicks, fuch unhallow'd Strains,
Were never fpawn'd before from Irish Brains;
Nor drowsy Mum, nor dozing Ufquebaugh,
Could e'er fuggeft fuch Lines to Sr. John Daw,
You weakly skirmish with the Sins o'th' Age,
And are the arrant Scavenger o'th' Stage.
Why Virtue makes no Progrefs now, is plain,
Because fuch Knights as you its Cause maintain.
If you'd a Friend to Senfe and Virtue be,
And to Mankind, for once be rul'd by me,
Leave Moralizing, Drugs, and Poetry.
To Dr. Garth, on the fourth Edition of his incomparable Poem, The Difpenfary; occafion'd by Jome Lines in the Satyr againft Wit.
Old thy Attempts, in these hard Terms, to raise
In our unfriendly Clime the tender Bays,
While Northern Blafts drive from the neighb'ring Flood, And nip the fpringing Lawrel in the Bud.
On fuch bleak Paths our prefent Poets tread,
The very Garland withers on each Head.
In vain the Criticks ftrive to purge the Soil,
Fertile in Weeds, it mocks their bufy Toil:
Spontaneous Corps of Fobs and Arthursrife,
Whofe tow'ring Nonfenfe braves the very Skies.
Like Paper-Kites the empty Volumes Ay,
And by mere Force of Wind are rais'd on high.
While we did these with stupid Patience fpare,
And from Apollo's Plants withdrew our Care,
The Mufes Garden did fmall Product yield,
But Hemp and Hemlock over-ran the Field :
'Tis fkilful Garth, with falutary Hand,
Taught us to weed, and cure poetick Land;
Grubb'd up the Brakes and Thiftles which he found,
And fow'd with Verfe and Wit the facred Ground.
But now the Riches of that Soil appear,
Which four fair Harvests yields in half a Year.
No more let Criticks of the Want complain
Of Mantuan Verfe, or the Meonian Strain;
Above them Garth does on their Shoulders rife,
And what our Language wants his Wit fupplies;
Fam'd Poets after him fhall ftrain their Throats,
And unfledg'd Mufes chirp their Infant Notes.
Yes, Garth, thy Enemies confefs thy Store;
They burft with Envy, yet they long for more:
Ev'n we, thy Friends, in Doubt thy Kindness call,
To fee thy Stock fo large, and Gift so small,
But Jewels in fmall Cabinets are laid,
And richest Wines in little Cafks convey'd.
Let lumpish Bre his dull Hackney freight,.
And break his Back with heavy Folio's Weight;
His Pegafus is of the Flanders Breed,
And limb'd for Draught, or Burden, not for Speed..
With Cart-horse Trot, he fweats beneath the Pack
Of Rhiming Profe and Knighthood on his Back..
Made for a Drudge, e'en let him beat the Road,
And tug of fenfelefs Reams th' heroick Load;
Till, over-ftrain'd, the Jade is fet, and tires,
And, finking in the Mud, with Groans expires.
re fhall this Favour owe to thee,
That thou perpetuat'ft his Memory.
Bavius and Mevius fo their Works furvive,
And in one fingle Line of Virgil's live.
To a Famous Doctor and Poet at Sadlers-Hall.
Blre alone the healing Secret knows, 'Tis from his Pen the grand Elixir flows.
To the Cheapfide Quack; occafion'd by this Verfe in the Satyr against Wit.
"Who with more Eafe can cure, than C-ch kill.
By a Gentleman whom Dr. C-lb-ch bad cur'd of the Gout.
OW durft thy railing Mufe, vain Wretch, pretend
In bafe Lampoons thus to abufe my Friend!
Whofe facred Art has free'd me from my Pains,
And broke a haughty Tyrant's ftubborn Chains?
Keep off, for if thou com'ft within my Clutches,
I'll baste thy Knighthood with my quondam Crutches.
The gen'rous Wine that does my Sorrows drown,
The charming Celia that my Nights does crown,
The manly Pleafuies of the fporting Fields,
The gay Delights the pompous Drama yields;
All this, and more, to his great Skill I owe :
Such Bleflings can thy boafted Helps beftow?
The Snuff of Life, perhaps thy feeble Art
May fondly lengthen to thy Patients Smart ;
But Health no more 'tis in thy Pow'r to give,
Than thy dull Mufe can make her Heroes live.
Ev'n War and Plague of Killing to arraign
In thee, is most nonfenfical and vain :
Thee, who a branded Killer art declar'd
In both Capacities of Quack and Bard.
Whatever Sots to thy Prefcriptions fly,
For their vain Confidence, are fure to die ;
And whate'er Argument thy Mufe employs,
Her awkward, ftupid Management deftroys
Death with fure Steps thy Dofes ftill attends,
And Death too follows whom thy Mufe commends.
What can efcape thy all-deftroying Quill,
When ev'n thy Cordials and thy Praises kill?
Thy Mother, fure, when in Defpair and Pain
She brought thee forth, thought of the Murd'rer Cain.
To that most incomparable Bard and Quack, the
Author of the Satyr against Wit,
By Tho. Creach, Efq.
Charge thee, Knight, in Great Apollo's Name,
Either thy Rhimes or Clyfters to difclaim.
Both are too much one feeble Brain to rack;
Befides, the Bard will foon undo the Quack.
Such Shoals of Readers thy damn'd Fuftian kills,
Thoul't fcarce leave one alive to take thy Pills.
A Merry Ballad on the City Bard.
By the Hon. Richard Norton, Efq;
To a new Playhouse Tune.
Afprightly Wit and Perfon join'd,
Both Poet and Physician;
Artift as famous in his Kind,
For ought I know, as Titian.
In Coffee-neufes pureft Air
His foggy Lines he writes,
In Fields of Duft and Spittle, there
This British Hero fights.
By fudden Motion then o'erta'en,
The Privy-house he chufes ;
Great are his Thoughts, and great his Pain,
And yet no Time he loses.
Grip'd in his Guts and Mufe, he there indites,.
And praises Arthur molt, when most he fh-
Henrico Higden, Arm.
Cum infeliciter ipfi Comadia cefferit.
1693.
Uod inquieta voce, rifu, fibili,
Superba Bruti turba fic exceperit;
Quod purpuratus Infans, vecors Eques,
Summeq; Meretrix in fubfellio fedens,
Totufq; delicatulorum circulus,
In te tuumq; conjuraverint opus :
Nolito in iras irritas erumpere,
Damnare Mufas, increpare Apollinem,
Calofque votis improbis laceffere.
Quin Drama tandem luce donans publica,
Invifis orbem, quin, timoris infcius,
Vanas Maligniorum defpicis minas?
Abunde damnum fic refarcies prius,
Fameq; confules; Lector dabit libens
Quod improbus fpectator abnegaverat.
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