247

THE EMPIRIC

Quacks! high and low—whate'er your occupation—I hate ye all!—but, ye remorseless crew,

Who, with your nostrums, thin the population,A more especial hate I bear tow'rds you —

You, who're regardless if you kill or cure,—

Who lives, or dies—so that of fees you're sure!

" What!" saith the moralist, " are any foundSo base, so wondrous pitiful?"—" Aye, many: —

In this metropolis vile Quacks abound,Who'd poison you outright, to get a penny;—

Monsters! who'd recklessly deal death around,

Till the whole globe were one vast burial-ground !"

" Rail on ! abuse us, Sir !" cries Doctor Pill :" While you're in health it all sounds mighty clever;

But if, perchance, again you're taken ill,I shall be sent for, just the same as ever;

When groaning with the gout, or teaz'd with phthisic,

You'll gladly call me in, and take my physic!"