Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/58

⁠Sound but to Arms, the Foe shall soon confess
Our Force encreases, as our Funds grow less;
And what requir'd such Industry to raise,
We'll scatter into nothing as we please.
Thus they'll acknowledge, to Annihilate
Skews no less wond'rous Pow'r than to Create.
We'll raise our num'rous Cohorts and oppose
The feeble Forces of our pigmy Foes;
Legions of Quacks shall join us on the Place,
From Great Kirleus down to Doctor Case.
Tho' such vile Rubbish sink, yet we shall rise;
Directors still secure the greatest Prize.
Such poor Supports serve only like a Stay;
The Tree once fix'd; its Rest is torn away.

⁠So Patriots, in the time of Peace and Ease,
Forget the Fury of the late Disease:
On Dangers past, serenely think no more;
And curse the Hand that heal'd the Wound before.

⁠Arm therefore, gallant Friends, 'tis Honour's Call,
Or let us boldly Fight, or bravely Fall.

⁠To this the Session seem'd to give Consent,
Much lik'd the War, but dreaded much th'Event.
At length, the growing Diff'rence to compose,
Two Brothers, nam'd Ascarides, arose.
Both had the Volubility of Tongue,
In Meaning faint, but in Opinion strong.
To Speak they both assum'd a like Pretence,
The Elder gain'd his just Pre-eminence;

Thus