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336 And come, ye hosts that hold brevets
 * From Hosack’s college of physicians.

And thou, botanic Hosack, bring
 * Thy poppy-breathing lips along;

Thy name in steeple-bells shall ring,
 * Thou monarch of the motley throng.

Yet Mitchill may the votes estrange,
 * Or Doctor Clinton, to confound ye,

Again produce some queer melange
 * Of scientific Salmagundi.

Clinton! the name my fancy fires,
 * I see him, with a sage’s look,

Exhausting Nature, and whole quires
 * Of foolscap, in his wondrous book.

Columbia’s genius hovers o’er him,
 * Fair Science, smiling, lingers near,

Encyclopædias lie before him,
 * And Mitchill whispers in his ear.

Enough! the swelling wave has borne
 * Upon its bosom chiefs and kings—

From Mitchill, Clinton, Hosack, Home,
 * One cannot stoop to meaner things.

Yet once again we’ll raise the song,
 * And passing forums, banks, and brokers,

Join with the bubble-blowing throng,
 * Seize Quackery’s pipe, and puff the Croakers.

D.