[Ill.u.s.tration: _Drawn by Rowlandson_

QUae GENUS WITH A QUACK DOCTOR.]

Patients that morning had been plenty, Not less it seems than five-and-twenty; This the old woman smiling stated, And told him that the dinner waited.

The table shew'd a plenteous treat } Of fish and fowl and sav'ry meat, } But poor QUae GENUS scarce could eat. } For, though prepar'd for any diet, His hunger soon repos'd in quiet.

The Doctor fed, but talk'd the while, Of gastric juice and flowing bile; Of kidneys and o'ergrowing liver, As of sore eyes now cur'd for ever; What his fam'd _Nostrum_ had perform'd, And how it had the bowels storm'd Of guttling Gourmand with such force, That it a pa.s.sage made of course, Which three great Doctors tried in vain, With all their boasted skill to gain.

Besides our hero did not know How cookery went on below, And he might think, poor dainty sinner, That the same hands had dress'd the dinner, Which were entrusted with the care Each daily med'cine to prepare; To melt the salves and spread anon The cerates and diacolon; That did the drugs or grind or pound, And dress the sore leg's running wound: But so it was, a sick sensation Check'd all his powers of mastication, And caus'd his stomach to resent The very taste of nutriment: Nay his sad appet.i.te approv'd When all the dishes were remov'd.

--They therefore soon had ceas'd to dine } And o'er the second pint of wine } The bargain clos'd with ANODYNE. } What that was, it is fit to know, And the verse now will briefly show.

QUae GENUS had made up his mind Not to his interest to be blind; But in the game that path pursue Which prudence says we ought to do, Nor to let scruples overpower Th' advantage of the pa.s.sing hour, And yet that artifice restrain Whose daily efforts are for gain: In short to take the middle plan, } Which, as the world is us'd to scan, } Marks what is call'd an _Honest Man_. } He might not hesitate complying With a small spice of useful lying That idle questions might disarm, Do some slight good, but never harm, Afford a sentimental grace To conversation's common place, And give a customary aid To all the retail slang of trade.

With mind thus settled and prepar'd He ANODYNE'S first lecture heard.

And as it surely was the best, We shall pa.s.s over all the rest.

ANODYNE.

"This the first rule that I shall trace:-- You must command a solemn face; Nor suffer objects to beguile Your features to familiar smile.

Here, I must own, you oft may see What may court transient pleasantry; For e'en 'midst misery and pain, You'll find such whims and fancies reign, Hear patients cough and grunt and sneeze In such uncouth, discordant keys, That without care, I should not wonder Your muscles into laugh might blunder.

You have a speech runs off at score, As rapid as a chaise and four, But with my sickly folk be slow As a stage-waggon's us'd to go; And pray remember to apply Your words with due solemnity.

I know you well can suit your tongue To any age, to old or young; Nor will the task your care perplex In the complaints of either s.e.x; And bear in mind, whate'er you see, To veil your thoughts with modesty: But hear the great and leading rule Of this my Esculapian school.

"I care not by what name you call This s.p.a.cious parlour, room or hall: But here my daily patients range Whose order you must never change: Were I to take them one by one, By Heaven I should ne'er have done; And, therefore, govern'd by their feather I thus a.s.sort my birds together.

Here, on the right, are duly seated Those who for gouty freaks are treated, Then comes the symptomatic fever, And next the bilious and their liver: Then follow others in their turn, The chills which shake, the heats that burn; The stomachs which will ne'er digest The food their feeders love the best; The wheesers too are not far off, All those who hem and spit and cough, With such, not of the happiest kind, Whose bowels threat to crack with wind The Hypochondres here repose Impatient for the cordial dose, And children on the carpet brawl, Till my spice biscuits calm the squall.

"I first review th' a.s.sembled tribe Then walk off stately and prescribe, When I consign to your quick sense Th' appropriate med'cines to dispense, To all the cla.s.ses in your view, } With gentle tone and caution due: } See then how much depends on you. } Each case that asks superior art I send into a room apart; And _there_ I never feel alarm; I play no tricks and do no harm.

When I a desp'rate illness see, For patients must not die with me, I recommend them to repair To goat's-milk and the country air; And when such counsel they receive They do not fail to take their leave, Full of my candour and disdain Of any little paltry gain.

Deep cuts, sore legs and gummy eyes, With all the common casualties, I with my healing dame bestow, In her snug, secret cell below: Indeed I've sometimes star'd to see The wonders of her surgery.

--'Tis true 'mong doctors I'm not famous, But still I'm not an _Ignoramus_; For I can play a skillfull part In elements of chymic art; I give the drafts a varying hue, To-day so red, to-morrow blue, And touch them with a diff'rent savour, To give a worse or better flavour, As it may suit, then change their name, } Though they may be the very same, } Both in their object and their aim. }

"It is with me a leading fashion To play thus with imagination; A symptom that doth never cease, Or more or less in all disease.

There are sly shifts in ev'ry trade, Which money calls in to its aid: But here I'd have it understood, If when my practice does no good, My conscience never has the qualm, That I do any real harm.

Nor are my various cures unknown As placards tell of my renown!

My nostrums oft my hopes fulfil, Nor do I know they ever kill.

Those cases which I've cause to doubt, And cannot find their symptoms out, I never fail to leave to nature, Who is a wonder-working creature: And my chief cures which make a stir,-- I e'en must own I owe to her.-- --Such the great object of my care.-- Fear not, you will th' advantage share.

But know, when all my sick are here, You as _Inferior_ must appear; But business o'er and they are gone, Then good QUae GENUS, we are one!"

At length the compact was agreed, } And all things promis'd to succeed: } Our Hero soon could cup and bleed; } And, with a kind, officious grace, The med'cine gave in time and place; Nay, as occasion might afford, Bitters improve with sweet'ning word: He had acquir'd the art to please With welcome flatt'ries such as these.

"_How stout your legs appear to-day!

I trust you have walk'd all the way!

And ere that our brief work is done, We shall have taught you how to run!_"

"_O madam! how I must rejoice, That you have lost your husky voice; Soon I doubt not that I shall find Your tones are of the sweetest kind_!"

"_And that fine face I griev'd to view When cloth'd in such a pallid hue; But I have seen, this pa.s.sing week, The colour coming on your cheek.

And if some ill does not oppose, We soon shall see the tender rose: And hope's a friend that will supply The prospect which, I trust, is nigh_."

Now sometimes he would give a scope To his propensity to joke.

For 'mid this pale-fac'd, grumbling mess 'Twere well to stir some chearfulness: For if a parson chose to squeeze A lady on her crummy knees, (For here a little play and prate Might cheer a sickly _tete-a-tete_) His whisper might perchance declare, "Doctor, her pulses are not there."

--At all events, things went on well, As the pleas'd verse may freely tell; And the young Doctor ne'er complain'd Of what he by his office gain'd.

But here we now shall change our road And slip into an _Episode_; It is a common way we know, In which much better poets go: Though pride will not suggest that we Can be accus'd of _poetry_; Yet we must own that, in our time, We have stirr'd up some reams of _Rhyme_.

Howe'er that be, we now must come To steer our Hero's walks from home.

Among the few who sought the aid Of ANODYNE'S more secret trade, Was one who sent a written case Which did his various symptoms trace: Thus, when the Quack prepar'd the dose, QUae GENUS took it snug and close: He only knew the cordial sent, To whom address'd, and where it went: Besides it was his daily task Questions of import grave to ask.

How was his pulse? How had he slept?

If tremors o'er the system crept?

With such enquiries as our verse Might feel it awkward to rehea.r.s.e.

Of that no more, the patient's name Was _Woodlands_, known in rural fame: Through early years, a sportsman he, The flower of hunting chivalry; Was rich, and as he well was able, Saw jovial sportsmen round his table, Drank hard and lov'd the evening glee, With those who drank as hard as he.

But gout, with other ills came on, And jovial life was pa.s.s'd and gone: Health's active season now was o'er, When he could hunt and feast no more.

He sold his hounds and took a wife, To soothe the latter years of life; But they were few, as we shall see, In spite of care and Quackery.

She was a _Belle_ of rural fame, Who gave her troth and bore his name: Whate'er had been her hopes and views When she did an old husband chuse, The knowledge we do not profess, But leave the gen'rous mind to guess.

At all events, her outward mien, As it should be had always been, Nor had a jealous eye suspected Her duty had been e'er neglected.

But as infirm he now was grown, } At her desire, he came to town } To seek Physicians of renown. } He first had one, he then had two, But their prescriptions did not do; When still her care prevail'd, and she Another sought, so he had three; And no more good seem'd to be done, Than if he had been seen by none.

--Thus matters stood, nay he grew worse When an old busy, chattering nurse, Talk'd of the cures, almost divine, Of our friend Doctor ANODYNE.

The drowning catch at any reed, And all is help in desp'rate need: Thus the rich man propos'd to try The boasted aid of Quackery, And what he wish'd, Amelia said, With anxious smile, must be obey'd.

--Thus then it is, as we have seen, QUae GENUS has the attendant been; But now we are about to see What a snug _Proteus_ he can be.

The Lady, to his great surprise, Oft view'd him with enquiring eyes, And did a kind attention show Which he thought queer she should bestow, But he soon found the matter out; Madam herself clear'd up the doubt, As, in her _Boudoir's_ still recess, She did her quiet thoughts express.

In a soft, pleasant tone she spoke, As half in earnest half in joke; But as she thus her mind unveil'd, It might be seen what thought prevail'd.

"There's something in your air and face } That tells me you will not disgrace } The trust which I now wish to place } In your obedience to my will; And if you do that trust fulfil, If you act up to my intent, QUae GENUS never shall repent."

--His fingers on his lips he press'd, He clos'd his hands upon his breast; With most submissive air he bow'd, And secresy he swore and vow'd; When Madam _Woodlands_ thus proceeded: (I scarce need add that she succeeded.) "You do a Doctor's business ply; Now do not stare,--for so do I: There is a pale-fac'd patient too Whose certain cure I have in view, And I've a med'cine that will prove Specific,--as he's sick of love; It will, in time, set all at ease, And cure the pangs of his disease; For no prescription can be better Than that contain'd within this letter, Which you, my friend, must understand To give into the patient's hand.

Believe me too, when you are told, You'll find it worth its weight in gold.

--There is," she said, "a smile I see Now stealing on your gravity; But know, QUae GENUS I do nought That is with base dishonour fraught; My whims, though secret, common-sense Will clothe in garb of innocence."-- In short, but not without a fee, He took the balmy recipe, And ev'ry time he bore a letter The patient's case was growing better.

Thus fortune kindly did bestow Two strings to our keen Hero's bow; And to his wishes, in good troth, He reap'd no common gains from both.

--But here, another lucky hour Did on his hopes new promise pour: For Madam _Woodlands_ more than hinted, If, in his present projects stinted, He should no longer wish to shine With Quackery and ANODYNE, He might, by her all-fav'ring grace, Attain her household's highest place.

He saw, and not by way of whim, This was the very place for him; But still he felt he could not quit, As in a momentary fit, That state he to the Doctor ow'd, And which such benefit bestow'd; Then, without proper warning, leave him, Or with some scurvy tale deceive him, He saw in any point of view That honour prompts, it would not do.

Thus, in a state of constant doubt, He scarce knew what he was about, And to the daily patients gave Their med'cines just as chance would have.

To all diseases waiting there } He did not e'en appear to care } What was the complaint or where, } If it was fever or the gout; But left each dose to find it out.

--Thus strange indeed, but it appear'd The healing shop would soon be clear'd, The patients calmly pa.s.s'd away; } Nay, some of them were rather gay, } And fees forsook th' impoverish'd day. } When this change our QUae GENUS saw, He thought awhile and felt an awe, When it struck sudden on his sense, That his so wicked negligence, Had caus'd, perhaps, the final doom Of many an inmate of the room; But, on a fearful search, he found, Not one of them was under ground, Nay, that by giving med'cines wrong, He did their precious lives prolong; At least no harm they had endur'd, For by his blund'ring they were cur'd.

Shrewd ANODYNE, of course, suspected That his prime bus'ness was neglected; Indeed he clearly understood QUae GENUS did more harm than good, And therefore, without much delay, Hinted in a good-humour'd way, "You're tir'd, my friend, as it appears, (Of which I've sometime had my fears) You're tir'd of the _Galenic Art_; 'Twere better, therefore, that we part."

QUae GENUS made a calm reply, With acquiescing modesty: Nor was a harsh, unpleasant word From these dissolving Doctors, heard.

In truth, each party was good-hearted; So they shook hands and thus they parted.

Our _Proteus_ now is seen to grace Another and a favour'd place; The confidential servant he In 'Squire _Woodlands'_ family: But the poor 'Squire was hast'ning fast To that sad hour which prov'd his last; For soon, alas, the fatal gout Got in his head, and let life out; When Madam made a quick retreat From town to the fine country seat Which now was her's, with all the rest Of the great wealth which he possess'd.

What tears the widow'd Lady shed In sorrow o'er her husband dead, Whether as they her cheeks bedew'd, They flow'd from grief or grat.i.tude; How calm or poignant was her woe, We tell not, for we do not know.

Yet this we can with safety tell, Because we surely know it well, That through her husband's sickly life She was a tender nurse and wife.

--But now another scene appears, Dispers'd her grief, dried up her tears; Rich as she was and still a beauty, She look'd to change her line of duty; 'Twas Nature's act, as all will see Who read her little history.

In earlier years, ere she was led By Hymen to the marriage bed, VALCOUR and she each other lov'd, But their fond pa.s.sion hopeless prov'd.

--She was high-bred with fortune small, And his Commission was his all: For though he was of ancient line } And did with n.o.ble virtues shine, } He was the youngest child of nine; } And ere her marriage rites were o'er He sought renown on India's sh.o.r.e.

What he thus bravely sought he found, And once more trod on British ground, With that, but little else beside, A month before Old Woodlands died.

He let her hear that still he lov'd, She wrote, nor said she disapprov'd; That was the recipe to cure The doubts his bosom might endure; In which QUae GENUS was employ'd, And caus'd the good he now enjoy'd.

--But then she acted with discretion; As her fond husband's sole possession She would not, at his last, allow The promise of a future vow: She felt her tender inclination, As a reversionary pa.s.sion She must not own for him she lov'd, Till Death each hindrance had remov'd.

For due decorum she obey'd, And the sage widow's period stay'd; Nor till Time pull'd the Hatchment down, Did she her _Valcour's_ wishes crown: But crown'd they were; a splendid show Did Fortune on the rites bestow, When Hymen call'd on Love to shower Its roses o'er the nuptial bower.