Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/88

 Their Patron God his silver Bow-string twangs; Tough Harness ruthless, and bold Armour clangs The piercing Causticks ply their spightful Pow'r; Emeticks ranch, and keen Catharticks scour. The deadly Drugs in double Doses fly; And Pestles peal a martial Symphony.

Now from their levell'd Syringes they pour The liquid Volly of a missive Show'r. Not Storms of Sleet, which o'er the Baltick drive, Push'd on by Northern Gusts, such Horror give. Like Spouts in Southern Seas the Deluge broke, And Numbers sunk beneath th'impetuous Stroke.

So when Leviathans dispute the Reign And uncontroll'd Dominion of the Main; From the rent Rocks whole Coral Groves are torn, And Isles of Sea-weed on the Waves are born. Such watry Stores from their spread Nostrils fly, 'Tis doubtful which is Sea, and which is Sky.

And now the stagg'ring Braves, led by Despair, Advance, and to return the Charge, prepare. Each seizes for his Shield a spacious Scale, And the Brass Weights fly thick as Show'rs of Hail. Whole Heaps of Warriors welter on the Ground, With Gally-Pots, and broken Phials crown'd; Whilst empty Jarrs the dire Defeat resound.

Thus when some Storm its Crystal Quarry rends, And Jove in ratling Show'rs of Ice descends; Mount