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You lose the Fruit of all your former care,
For the sad Prospect of a Just Despair.

A Quack (too scandalously Mean to Name)
Had, by Man-Midwifery, got Wealth, and Fame;
As if Lucina had forgot her Trade,
The Lab'ring Wife invok's his surer Aid.
Well-season'd Bowls the Gossyps Spirits raise,
Who, while she Guzzles, Chats the Doctor's Praise.
And largely, what she wants in Words, supplies,
With Maudlin-Eloquence of trickling Eyes.
But what a thoughtless Animal is Man,
(How very Active in his own Trepan!)
For greedy of Physicians frequent Fees,
From Female Mellow Praise He takes Degrees:
Struts in a new Unlicens'd Gown, and then,
From saving Women falls to Killing Men.

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