ALL night the fage in penfive tumults lay,
Complaining of the flow approach of day;
Oft' turn'd him round, and ftrove to think no more
Of what shrill Colon said the day before.
Cowflips and poppies o'er his eyes he spread,
And Salmon's works he laid beneath his head.
But those blefs'd opiates still in vain he tries,
Sleep's gentle image his embraces flies:
Tumultuous cares lay rolling in his breast,
And thus his anxious thoughts the Sage expreft. 10
Oft' has this planet roll'd around the fun,
Since to confult the fkies I first begun :
Such my applaufe, fo mighty my fuccefs,
Some granted my predictions more than guess.
But, doubtful as I am, I'll entertain
This faith, there can be no mistake in gain.
For the dull world muft honour pay to those,
Who on their understanding most impose.
First man creates, and then he fears the elf;
Thus others cheat him not, but he himself;
That profpect, the Difpenfary they call,
Before the moon can blunt her horns, fhall fall.
With that, a glance from mild Aurora's eyes
Shoots through the crystal kingdoms of the skies.
The favage kind in forests cease to roam,
And fots, o'ercharg'd with nauseous loads, reel home;
Drums, trumpets, hautboys, wake the flumbering pair,
Whilft bridegroom fighs, and thinks the bride lefs fair;
Light's chearful smiles o'er th' azure waste are spread,
And Mifs from inns of court bolts out unpaid;
The Sage, transported at th' approaching hour,
Imperiously thrice thunder'd on the floor;
Officious Squirt that moment had accefs,
His trust was great, his vigilance no less.
To him thus Horoscope:
My kind compaffion in this dire affair,
Which is more light, fince you affume a fhare;
Fly with what hafte you us'd to do of old,
When clyfter was in danger to be cold;
With expedition on the beadle call,
To fummon all the company to th' hall.
Away the friendly coadjutor flies,
Swift as from phial steams of harts-horn rise.
The Magus in the interim mumbles o'er
Vile terms of art to fome infernal power,
And draws mysterious circles on the floor.
But from the gloomy vault no glaring spright
Afcends, to blaft the tender bloom of light.
No myftic founds from hell's detested womb
In dufky exhalations upwards come.
And now to raise an altar he decrees,
To that devouring harpy call'd Disease:
Then flowers in canisters he haftes to bring,
The wither'd product of a blighted spring;
With cold folanum from the Pontic shore,
The roots of mandrake and black hellebore;
The griper fenna, and the puker rue,
The sweetener faffafras, are added too;
And on the structure next he heaps a load
Of fulphur, turpentine, and maftic wood;
Gums, foffils too, the pyramids increas'd;
A mummy next, once monarch of the east;
Then from the compter he takes down the file,
And with prescriptions lights the folemn pile.
Feebly the flames on clumfy wings afpire,
And fmothering fogs of fmoke benight the fire.
With forrow he beheld the fad portent,
Then to the hag these orifons he fent:
Disease! thou ever most propitious power,
Whofe kind indulgence we difcern each hour!
Thou well canft boast thy numerous pedigree,
Begot by floth, maintain'd by luxury.
In gilded palaces thy prowefs reigns,
But flies the humble fheds of cottage swains..
To you fuch might and energy belong,
You nip the blooming, and unnerve the ftrong.
Thou that would'ft lay whole ftates and regions wafte,
Sooner than we thy cormorants should faft.
The purple conqueror in chains you bind,
And are to us your vaffals only kind.
If, in return, all diligence we pay
To fix your empire, and confirm your sway,
Far as the weekly-bills can reach around,
From Kent-ftreet end, to fam'd St. Giles's Pound; Behold this poor libation with a smile,
And let aufpicious light break through the pile.
He fpoke; and on the pyramid he laid 115 Bay-leaves and vipers-hearts, and thus he faid: As these confume in this mysterious fire,
So let the curs'd Dispensary expire!
And as thofe crackle in the flames, and die,
So let its veffels burft, and glaffes fly!
But a finifter cricket ftraight was heard;
The altar fell, the offering difappear'd.
As the fam'd wight the omen did regret,
Squirt brought the news the company was met.
.Nigh where Fleet-ditch defcends in fable streams,
To wash his footy Naiads in the Thames;
There stands a structure on a rifing hill,
Where Tyros take their freedom out to kill.
Some pictures in these dreadful shambles tell,
How, by the Delian god, the Python fell;
And how Medea did the philtre brew,
That could in Æfon's veins young force renew;
How mournful Myrrha for her crimes appears,
And heals hysteric matrons ftill with tears;
How Mentha and Althea, nymphs no more,
Revive in facred plants, and health restore;
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