Page:A Satyr Against Hypocrites - Philips (1655).pdf/23

 Of my mint water that's at home: As patt as might be, then the Parson cry'd, 'Tis good; one holds her head, let't come, let't come, Still crying; just i'th' nick the Priest reply'd, Yea like a stream ye ought to let it flow, And then she reach'd, and once more let it go. Streight an old woman with a brace of chins, A bunch of keys, and cushion for her pins, Seeing in earnest the good woman lack it, Draws a Strong-water bottle from her placket; Well heated with her flesh, she takes a sup, Then gives the sick, and bids her drink it up. But all in vain, her eyes begin to roul, She sighs, and all cry out, alas poor soul! One then doth pinch her cheek, one pulls her nose, Some blest the opportunity that were her foes, And they reveng'd themselves upon her face, S. Dunstans Devil was ne're in such a case. Now Priest say what thou wilt, for here's a chat Begun of this great Empyrick, and that Renowned Doctor, what cures they have done: I like not Mayern, he speaks French sayes one. Oh sayes another, though the man be big, For my part I know none like Dr. Trig. Nay, hold you there sayes t'other, on my life There's none like Chamberlain the Man-midwife. Then in a heap, their own receipts they muster, To make this gelly, how to make that plaster, Which when she hears that but now fainting lay, Up starteth she, and talks as fast as they. But they that did not mind this dolefull passion, Followed their business on another fashion; For all did write, the Elder and the Novice, Methought the Church lookt like the Six-Clerks-Office. But Sermon's done, and all the folks as fast As they can trudge, to Supper now make hast: Down comes the Priest, when a grave Brother meets him, And putting off his broad-brim'd hat, thus greets him: Dear