Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/52

 The Sage transported at th'approaching Hour, Imperiously thrice thunder'd on the Floor; Officious Squirt that Moment had access, His Trust was great, his Vigilance no less. To him thus Horoscope,

My kind Companion in this dire Affair, Which is more light, since you assume a Share; Fly with what haste you us'd to do of old, When Clyster was in danger to be cold: With Expedition on the Beadle call, To summon all the Company to th' Hall.

Away the friendly Coadjutor flies, Swift as from Phyal Steams of Harts-horn rise. The Magus in the int'rim mumbles o'er Vile Terms of Art to some Infernal Pow'r, And draws Mysterious Circles on the Floor. But from the gloomy Vault no glaring Spright Ascends, to blast the tender Bloom of Light. No mystick Sounds from Hell's detested Womb, In dusky Exhalations upwards come. And now to raise an Altar He decrees, To that devouring Harpy call'd Disease. Then Flow'rs in Canisters he hastes to bring, The wither'd Product of a blighted Spring. With cold Solanum from the Pontick Shore, The Roots of Mandrake and Black Ellebore, The Griper Senna, and the Puker Rue, The Sweetner Sassafras are added too; And on the Structure next he heaps a load Of Sulphur, Turpentine and Mastick Wood: Gums