Finirent multi letho mala; credula vitam
Spes alit, et melius cras fore semper ait.
He fell to juggle, cant, and cheat
For as those fowls that live in water
Are never wet, he did but smatter;
Whate'er he labour'd to appear,
His understanding still was clear.
A paltry wretch he had, half-starv'd,
That him in place of zany serv'd.
The Worth and Excellence of the true Physician. Merit, not the sole cause of Success.-Modes of advancing Reputation. Motives of Medical Men for publishing their Works.-The great Evil of Quackery.-Present State of Advertising Quacks.-Their Hazard.-Some fail, and why.- Causes of Success.- How Men of Understanding are prevailed upon to have recourse to Empirics, and to permit their Names to be advertised. -Evils of Quackery: to nervous Females: to Youth: to Infants.-History of an Advertising Empiric, &c.
NEXT, to a graver Tribe we turn our view,
And yield the Praise to Worth and Science due;
But this with serious Words and sober Style,
For these are Friends with whom we seldom smile:
Helpers of Men* they're call'd, and we confess
Theirs the deep Study, theirs the lucky Guess;
We own that numbers join with Care and Skill,
A temperate Judgment, a devoted Will;
Men who suppress their Feelings, but who feel
The painful Symptoms they delight to heal;
Patient in all their trials, they sustain
The starts of Passion, the reproach of Pain;
* Opiferque per orbem dicor.
With Hearts affected, but with Looks serene,
Intent they wait through all the solemn Scene;
Glad if a hope should rise from Nature's Strife,
To aid their Skill and save the lingering Life;
But this must Virtue's generous effort be,
And spring from nobler motives than a Fee:
To the Physicians of the Soul, and these,
Turn the Distress'd for Safety, Hope, and Ease.
But as Physicians of that nobler kind
Have their warm Zealots, and their Sectaries blind;
So among these for Knowledge most renown'd,
Are Dreamers strange, and stubborn Bigots found:
Some too, admitted to this honour'd Name,
Have, without Learning, found a way to Fame;
And some by Learning-young Physicians write,
To set their Merit in the fairest light;
With them a Treatise is a Bait that draws
Approving Voices-'tis to gain Applause,
And to exalt them in the public view,
More than a Life of worthy Toil could do.
When 'tis propos'd to make the Man renown'd,
In every Age, convenient Doubts abound;
Convenient Themes in every Period start,
Which he may treat with all the Pomp of Art;
Curious Conjectures he may always make,
And either side of dubious Questions take:
He may a System broach, or, if he please,
Start new Opinions of an old Disease;
Or may some Simple in the Woodland trace,
And be its Patron, till it runs its Race;
As rustic Damsels from their Woods are won,
And live in Splendour till their Race be run;
It weighs not much on what their Powers be shown,
When all his Purpose is to make them known.
To show the World what long Experience gains, Requires not Courage, though it calls for Pains ; But at Life's outset to inform Mankind,
Is a bold effort of a valiant Mind.
The great good Man, for noblest Cause, displays What many Labours taught, and many Days; These sound Instruction from Experience give, The others show us how they mean to live; That they have Genius, and they hope Mankind Will to its Efforts be no longer blind.
There are beside, whom powerful Friends advance,
Whom Fashion favours, Person, Patrons, Chance:
And Merit sighs to see a Fortune made
By daring Rashness or by dull Parade.
But these are trifling evils; there is one
Which walks uncheck'd, and triumphs in the Sun:
There was a time, when we beheld the Quack,
On public Stage, the licens'd Trade attack;
He made his labour'd Speech with poor parade;
And then a laughing Zany lent him aid:
Smiling we pass'd him, but we felt the while
Pity so much, that soon we ceas'd to smile;
Assur'd that fluent Speech and flow'ry Vest
Disguis'd the Troubles of a Man distress'd.
But now our Quacks are Gamesters, and they play
With Craft and Skill to ruin and betray;
With monstrous Promise they delude the Mind,
And thrive on all that tortures Human-kind.
Void of all Honour, avaricious, rash,
The daring Tribe compound their boasted Trash-
Tincture or Syrup, Lotion, Drop or Pill;
All tempt the Sick to trust the lying Bill;
And twenty Names of Cobblers turn'd to Squires,
Aid the bold Language of these blushless Liars.
There are among them those who cannot read,
And yet they'll buy a Patent, and succeed;
Will dare to promise dying Sufferers aid,
For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid?
With cruel Avarice still they recommend
More Draughts, more Syrup to the Journey's end:
"I feel it not ;"-" Then take it every hour:'
"It makes me worse;" Why then it shows its power:'
"I fear to die;"-"Let not your Spirits sink,
You're always safe, while you believe and drink.' How strange to add, in this nefarious Trade, That Men of Parts are Dupes by Dunces made: That Creatures, Nature meant should clean our Streets, Have purchas'd Lands and Mansions, Parks and Seats; Wretches with Conscience so obtuse, they leave Their untaught Sons their Parents to deceive; And when they're laid upon their Dying-bed, No thought of Murder comes into their head; Nor one revengeful Ghost to them appears, To fill the Soul with penitential Fears.
Yet not the whole of this imposing Train Their Gardens, Seats, and Carriages obtain; Chiefly, indeed, they to the Robbers fall, Who are most fitted to disgrace them all: But there is hazard-Patents must be bought, Venders and Puffers for the Poison sought; And then in many a Paper through the Year, Must Cures and Cases, Oaths and Proofs appear; Men snatch'd from Graves, as they were dropping in, Their Lungs cough'd up, their Bones pierc'd through their Skin;
Their Liver all one Scirrus, and the Frame
Poison'd with Evils which they dare not name;
|