Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/57

 The Nerves unbrace: Nay, at the Sight of thee, A Scratch turns Cancer, Itch a Leproiie. Cou'dft thou propose, That we, the Friends o'Fates, Who fill Church-yards, and who unpeople States, Who baffle Nature and dispose of Lives, Whilst Russel, as we please, or starves, or thrives, Should e'er submit to their despotic Will, Who out o'Consultation scarce can kill? The tow'ring Alps shall sooner sink to Vales, And Leaches, in our Glasses, swell to Whales, Or Norwich trade in Implements of Steel, And Bromingham in Stuffs and Druggets deal! Allys at Wapping furnish us new Modes, And Monmouth street, Versailles with Riding-hoods; The Sick to th' Hundreds in pale Throngs repair, And change the Gravel-Pits for Kentish Air. Our Properties must on our Arms depend; 'Tis next to Conquer, bravely to Defend. 'Tis to the Vulgar, Death too harsh appears; The Ill we feel is only in our Fears.

To Die, is Landing on some silent Shoar, Where Billows never break, nor Tempests roar: E'er well we feel the friendly Stroke, 'tis o'er. The Wife thro' Thought th'Insults of Death defy; The Fools, thro' bless'd Insensibility. 'Tis what the Guilty fear, the Pious crave; Sought by the Wretch, and vanquish'd by the Brave. It eases Lovers, sets the Captive free And, tho' a Tyrant, offers Liberty. Sound