So when a Taylor on the Shopboard fits, Of Galligafkins to repair the Slits, Tormented by the Foe, he Vengeance vows, And with his Spear, a Needle, pricks a Loufe. And now a general Tumult reigns thro' all, To Arms, to Arms,' on ev'ry Side they bawl. So loud the Din, fo terrible the Roar, It pierc'd the Earth to Lethe's farther Shore; 32 Shook Pluto's Throne,--who trembled for his Friends, So fkill'd, fo prompt to serve their mutual Ends. Refolv'd to part them, he afcends to Light, Enters the Room, in folemn Veft bedight.


A fable Truncheon his Right-hand displays, 35 And in his Left four flaming Torches blaze; Rings on his Fingers for departed Friends; Athwart his Breait a filken Scarf descends; Plumes on his Head, and on his Back he bore, Like Herald's Coat, a Robe efcutcheon'd o'er. An Undertaker aptly he appears :Black is the conftant Drefs Hell's Monarch wears. Thus have we feen, in Pantomimick Tricks, Grim Pluto thro' the Trap-door come from Styx; Black and all black, all dismal is his Suit, 45 And powder'd feems the Peruke's felf with Soot: His Legs alone, with emblematic Aim, In fcarlet-colour'd Hofe affect to Flame.

• Hold, hold, (he cries,) what means this defp'rate Fray?


Will ye yourselves inftead of others flay?
Has Beaume purg'd Autumn of each fad Complaint?
The Air in vain does Influenza taint?

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What! no acute, no chronical Disease,
No Fevers want your Aid? No Pleurifies,
No Coughs, Confumptions, Atrophies, Catarrhs?
No foul Mishaps from Love's intemp'rate Wars?
If ye neglect Your Bufinefs, there will be,
Alas! I fear, but little Work for Me.

What's in a Name? That which we call a Wig, 60
By any other Name would look as big.
What's in a Place? Where'er ye had Degrees,
The fame the Latin in your Recipes:
The Scrawl, illegible to vulgar Eyes,

Denotes you deeply learn'd, and wond'rous wife.



Beaume de Vie. A Medicine fo called, which is advertised as a fovereign Remedy against autumnal Complaints.

Influenza. A Diftemper which rages in Italy, in the Summer Months. The Term has been adopted in England.

V. 58. If ye neglect Your Business, there will be,
Alas! I fear, but little Work for Me.

The two Trades are fo intimately connected, that an eminent Apothecary, whofe eldest Son is brought up to the Father's Profeffion, has, with a prudent Forecaft, bound his youngest Son Apprentice to an Undertaker.

V. 60. What's in a Name? That which we call a Wig, By any other Name would look as big.

A Parody on the following Lines;

What's in a Name? That which we call a Rose,
By any other Name would fmell as fweet.


< Think on the Meed, that tickles fweet your Hand, The glitt'ring Meed, no Doctor can withstand.

Tho' Doctors differ ;-for the human Tripe Tho' fome the Purge prefer, and fome the Pipe; • Or in th' Inteftines raise the fharp Commotion, 70 • Some with a Pill, and others with a Potion Tho', to apply the Flayer of the Skin, Some hold a Virtue, others hold a Sin; In Antimony fome their Trust repose, And fome in Mercury-to fave a Nose; In this one Point ye never difagree,Ye're all unanimous-about the Fee.


• Come then, my Friends, (for now methinks I fpy • A mild Complacency in ev'ry Eye,)

• Think on the Meed, that tickles fweet your Hand,80 • The glitt❜ring Meed, no Doctor can withstand. • Like


V. 72. The Flayer of the Skin.

A poetical Expreffion for Emplaftr. Epifpaftic.In plain English, a Blifter.

V. 76. In this one Point ye never difagree,
Ye're all unanimous-about the Fee.

About each Symptom how they difagree,-
But how unanimous in cafe of Fee. GARTH.

V. 80. Think on the Meed that tickles fweet your Hand,
The glitt'ring Meed, no Doctor can withstand.

To corroborate the Truth of this Maxim, we fhall take the Liberty of fetting down the two following short Stories, by Way of Illuftration. The Circum

Z 2

Like to the Cur in Efop's Tale display'd,
Ye quit the Substance, and embrace the Shade.
Licentiato Licence has-to kill:

Can Socio boast a greater Pow'r, or Skill?
While ye difpute, and quarrel for a Word,
Behold! your Patients are to Health restor❜d.



Circumftances required the Stile of the Narration to be more familiar than would fuit with the Dignity of the Reft of the Poem, to have them interwoven in the Body of it.

A Doctor once (no Matter whence I ween, From Oxford, Leyden, Cam, or Aberdeen,). Was call'd to visit one with utmost Speed; But, when he came, behold the Patient's dead. What! dead?'---' Yes, Doctor,-dead,—but here's 'your Fee

Oh, very well:-'tis all the fame to me.'

A Doctor once (O tell it not in Bath, Left Doctor Somebody be much in Wrath,) Soon as he faw the fick Man, fhook his Head,No Pulfe-no Breath-the Man in fhort was dead.— Now as our Doctor kept his filent Stand, The tempting Shiner in the dead Man's Hand He faw, he touch'd-and feizing, 'Tis for me,' He cried, and took his Farewell,-and the Fee.

V. 87. Behold! your Patients are to Health refor'd.

It is very remarkable, that the * Decrease of Burials within the Bills of Mortality for the Year 1767, is not less than 1299, owing (it may perhaps be fuppofed) to the Phyficians having been fo much taken up with Squabbles among themfelves.

* See the General Bill of Mortality, fet forth by the Parish Clerks, From December 15, 1766, to December 16, 1767.

• Ye

Ye three-tail'd Sages, ceafe your Difputation,
Be Friends, and focial join in Confultation;
Each fhake his loaded Noddle with the other, 90
And Brother gravely smell his Cane with Brother.'
He ended, and forthwith to Sight appears
A Car triumphal in the Form of Hearie:

Six coal-black Steeds drag'd its flow Length along,'
Deaf to Aight, Aight, and heedlefs of the Thong. 95
Thefe with dull Pace th' infernal Monarch'drew,
(Laid flat upon his Back, and hid from View,)
In awful Pomp, flow, folemn, fad, and still,
Thro' Warwick-Lane, and on, (down Ludgate-Hill,)
To the Fleet-Market,-whofe ftupendous Ditch Ico
A lazy Current rolls, as black as Pitch;

From whence a Paffage, difmal, dark, and dank,
Leads underneath to Acheron's gloomy Bank.
Twelve fable Imps the Vehicle furround,

And with lethiferous Nightfhade firew the Ground:

V. 90.



Each fhake his loaded Noddle with the other,
And Brother gravely fmell his Cane with Brother.

An Imitation of the following Lines ;

One Fool lolls his Tongue out at another,
And shakes his empty Noddle at his Brother.


V. 94. Six ccal-black Steeds drag'd its flow Length along,

A needlefs Alexandrine ends the Song,

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V. 95. Deaf to Aight, Aight, and heedlefs to the Thong.

Aight, Aight-an Expreffion in the Huynhym Language, made Ufe of by Coachmen, &c. in fpeaking to the Horfes, fignifying, Go on.


A ftrong

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