Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/55

 The Faculty had still maintain'd their Sway, And Int'rest then had bid us but obey; This only Emulation we had known, Who best cou'd fill his Purse, and thin the Town. But now from gathering Clouds Destruction pours, Which ruins with mad Rage our Halcyon Hours: Mists from black Jealousies the Temped form, Whilst late Divisions reinforce the Storm. Know, when these Feuds, like those at Law, are past, The Winners will be Losers at the last. Like Heroes in Sea-Fights we seek Renown, To fire some Hostile Ship, we burn our own. Who-e'er throws Dust against the Wind, descries He throws it, in effect, but in his Eyes. That Juggler which another's Slight will show, But teaches how the World his own may know.

Thrice happy were those golden Days of old, When dear as Burgundy, Ptisans were sold; When Patients chose to die with better Will, Than breathe, and pay th' Apothecary's Bill. And cheaper than for our Assistance call, Might go to Aix or Bourbon, Spring and Fall.

Then Priests increas'd, and Piety decay'd, Churchmen the Church's Purity betray'd; Their Lives and Doctrine, Slaves and Atheists made. The Laws were but the hireling judge's Sense; Juries were sway'd by venal Evidence. Fools were promoted to the Council-Board, Tools to the Bench, and Bullies to the Sword. Pension