Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/56

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The Dispensary.

Pensions in Private were the Senate's Aim;
And Patriots for a Place abandon'd Fame.

But now no influencing Art remains,
For S———rs has the Seal, and Nassau reigns.
And we, in spight of our Resolves, must bow,
And suffer by a Reformation too.
For now late Jars our Practices detect,
And Mines, when once discover'd, lose Effect.
Dissentions, like small Streams, are first begun,
Scarce seen they rise, but gather as they run:
So Lines that from their Parallell decline,
More they proceed the more they still dis-join.
'Tis therefore my Advice, in haste we send,
And beg the Faculty to be our Friend;
Send swarms of Patients, and our Quarrels end.
So awful Beadles, if the Vagrant treat,
Strait turn familiar, and their Fasces quit.
In vain we but contend, that Planet's Pow'r
Those Vapours can disperse It rais'd before.

As He prepar'd the Mischief to recite,
Keen Colorynthis paus'd and foam'd with Spight,
Sow'r Ferments on his shining Surface swim,
Work up to Froth and bubble o'er the Brim:
Not Beauties fret so much if Freckles come,
Or Nose shou'd redden in the Drawing-Room;
Or Lovers that mistake th'appointed Hour,
Or in the lucky Minute want the Pow'r.

Thus He———Thou Scandal of great Pæan's Art,
At thy Approach, the Springs of Nature start,

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