From The Dispensary / Samuel Garth

from The Dispensary
Long has he been of that amphibious fry,

Bold to prescribe, and busy to apply;

His shop the gazing vulgar's eyes employs,

With foreign trinkets and domestic toys.

Here mummies lay, most reverently stale,

And there the tortoise hung her coat of mail;

Not far from some huge shark's devouring head

The flying-fish their finny pinions spread.

Aloft in rows large poppy-heads were strung,

And near, a scaly alligator hung.

In this place drugs in musty heaps decay'd,

In that dried bladders and false teeth were laid.

An inner room receives the num'rous shoals

Of such as pay to be reputed fools;

Globes stand by globes, volumes on volumes lie,

And planetary schemes amuse the eye.

The sage in velvet chair here lolls at ease,

To promise future health for present fees;

Then, as from tripod, solemn shams reveals,

And what the stars know nothing of foretells.

Our manufactures now they merely sell,

And their true value treacherously tell;

Nay, they discover, too, their spite is such,

That health, than crowns more valued, cost not much;

Whilst we must steer our conduct by these rules,

To cheat as tradesmen, or to starve as fools.