As 'tis no wonder, so, If with dejected eye In standing pools we seek the sky, That stars, so high above, should seem to us below.. Can we stand by and see Our mother robbed, and bound, and ravish'd be, Yet not to her assistance stir, Pleased with the strength and beauty of the ravish- The cancelled name of friend he bore? Ingrateful Cæsar, who could Rome enthrall! There's none but Brutus could deserve That all men else should wish to serve, er? And Cæsar's usurp'd place to him should proffer; None can deserve 't but he who would refuse the offer. Ill Fate assum'd a body thee to' affright, With such a voice, and such a brow, Goes out when spirits appear in sight. One would have thought 't heard the morning crow, Or seen her well-appointed star Come marching up the eastern hill afar. VOL. II. M Nor durst it in Philippi's field appear, But unseen attack'd thee there: Had it presumed in any shape thee to oppose, Thou shouldst have forced it back upon thy foes: · Or slain 't, like Cæsar, though it be A conqueror and a monarch mightier far than he. What joy can human things to us afford, The best cause and best man that ever drew a sword? The false Octavius and wild Antony, What can we say, but thine own tragic word— An idol only, and a name? Too deep for all thy judgment and thy wit. Which these great secrets shall unseal, A few years more, so soon hadst thou not died, TO DR. SCARBOROUGH. How long, alas! has our mad nation been Seem'd like its sea, embracing round the isle, Would now untill'd, desert, and naked stand, At the same time let loose Diseases' rage But thou by Heaven wert sent A medicine, and a counter-poison, to the age. By wondrous art, and by successful care, The inundations of all liquid Pain, And deluge Dropsy, thou dost drain. (The damn'd scarce more incurable than they) The subtle Ague, that for sureness' sake And at each battery the whole fort does shake, When thy strong guards, and works, it spies, The cruel Stone, that restless pain, That's sometimes roll'd away in vain, But still, like Sysiphus's stone, returns again, Thou break'st and meltest by learn'd juices' force (A greater work, though short the way appear, Than Hannibal's by vinegar!) Oppressed Nature's necessary course It stops in vain; like Moses, thou [flow. Strikest but the rock, and straight the waters freely The Indian son of Lust (that foul disease Which did on this his new-found world but lately Yet since a tyranny has planted here, As wide and cruel as the Spaniard there) Is so quite rooted-out by thee, That thy patients seem to be [seize, Restored not to health only, but virginity. Than Aaron's incense, or than Phineas' dart. Of man's infirmity? At thy strong charms it must be gone [Legion. Though a disease, as well as devil, were called From creeping moss to soaring cedar thou Canst all those magic virtues from them draw, Who, whilst thy wondrous skill in plants they see As the great artist in his sphere of glass His gentler arts, beloved in vain by me, There are who all their patients' chagrin have, And this great race of learning thou hast run, Thou see'st thyself still fresh and strong, The first famed aphorism thy great master spoke, And better things of man report; For thou dost make Life long, and Art but short. Ah, learned friend! it grieves me, when I think That thou with all thy art must die, As certainly as I ; |