To my Friend Dr. Garth, in his Sickness.
MAchaon sick, in ev'ry Face we find
His Danger is the Danger of Mankind,
Whose Art protecting, Nature cou'd expire
But by a Deluge, or the general Fire.
More Lives he saves than perish in our Wars,
And faster than a Plague destroys, repairs:
The bold Carowser, and advent'ring Dame,
Nor fear the Fever, nor refuse the Flame,
Safe in his Skill, from all Restraint set free,
But conscious Shame, Remorse, and Piety.
Sire of all Arts, defend thy darling Son,
O save the Man, whose Life's so much our own,
On whom, like Atlas, the whole World's reclin'd,
And, by restoring Garth, preserve Mankind.