Physicians, if they're wise, should never think
Of any Arms but such as Pen and Ink:
But th'Enemy, at their Expence, shall find,
When Honour calls, I'll scorn to stay behind.
He said; and seal'd th' Engagement with a Kiss,
Which was return'd by Younger Askaris;
Who thus advanc'd: Each Word Sir, you impart,
Has something killing in it, like your Art.
How much we to your boundless Friendship owe,
Our Files can speak, and your Prescriptions show.
Your Ink descends in such excessive Show'rs,
'Tis plain, you can regard no Health but ours.
Whilst poor Pretenders puzzle o'er a Case,
You but appear, and give the Coup de Grace.
O that near [1]Xanthus Banks you had but dwelt,
When Ilium first Achaian Fury felt,
The horned River then had curs'd in vain
Young Peleus' Arm, that choak'd his Stream with Slain.
No Trophies you had left for Greeks to raise,
Their Ten Years Toil, you'd finish'd in Ten Days.
Fate smiles on your Attempts, and when you list,
In vain the Cowards fly, or Brave resist.
Then let us Arm, we need not fear Success,
No Labours are too hard for Hercules.
Our military Ensigns we'll display;
Conquest pursues, where Courage leads the Way.
To this Design shrill Querpo did agree,
A zealous Member of the Faculty;
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The Dispensary.
His
