Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/65

 'Tis with Concern, my Friends, I meet you here; No Grievance you can know, but I must share. 'Tis plain my Int'rest you've advanc'd so long, Each Fee, tho' I was mute wou'd find a Tongue. And in return, tho' I have strove to rend Those Statutes which on Oath I should defend; Such Arts are Trifles to a gen'rous Mind, Great Services as great Returns shou'd find. And you'll perceive, this Hand, when Glory calls, Can brandish Arms as well as Urinals.

Oxford and all her passing Bells can tell, By this Right Arm, what mighty Numbers fell. Whilst others meanly ask'd whole Months to slay, I oft dispatch'd the Patient in a Day: With Pen in Hand I push'd to that degree, I scarce had left a Wretch to give a Fee. Some fell by Laudanum and some by Steel, And Death in Ambush lay in ev'ry Pill. For save or slay, this Privilege we claim Tho' Credit suffers, the Reward's the same.

What tho' the Art of Healing we pretend, He that designs it least, is most a Friend. Into the Right we err, and must confess To Oversights we often owe Success. Thus Bessus got the Battel in the Play, His glorious Cowardise restor'd the Day. So the fam'd Grecian Piece ow'd its Desert To Chance, and not the labour'd Stroaks oi Art. Physi-