Part 5 (1/2)

PROFESSIONS--PHYSIC.

The Worth and Excellence of the true Physician--Merit, not the sole Cause of Success--Modes of advancing Reputation--Motives of medical Men for publis.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sion, the reproach of pain; 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 n.o.bler motives than a fee: To the Physician of the Soul, and these, Turn the distress'd for safety, hope, and ease.

But as physicians of that n.o.bler kind Have their warm zealots, and their sectaries blind; So among these for knowledge most renowned, Are dreamers strange, and stubborn bigots found: Some, too, admitted to this honourd 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 in 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 proposed 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 n.o.blest 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 licensed trade attack; He made his laboured speech with poor parade, And then a laughing zany lent him aid: Smiling we pa.s.s'd him, but we felt the while Pity so much, that soon we ceased to smile; a.s.sured that fluent speech and flow'ry vest Disguised 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 of 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 purchased 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 s.n.a.t.c.h'd from graves, as they were dropping in, Their lungs cough'd up, their bones pierced through their skin Their liver all one schirrus, and the frame Poison'd with evils which they dare not name; Men who spent all upon physicians' fees, Who never slept, nor had a moment's ease, Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk as bees, If the sick gudgeons to the bait attend, And come in shoals, the angler gains his end: But should the advertising cash be spent, Ere yet the town has due attention lent, Then bursts the bubble, and the hungry cheat Pines for the bread he ill deserves to eat; It is a lottery, and he shares perhaps The rich man's feast, or begs the pauper's sc.r.a.ps.

From powerful causes spring th' empiric's gains, Man's love of life, his weakness, and his pains; These first induce him the vile trash to try, Then lend his name, that other men may buy: This love of life, which in our nature rules, To vile imposture makes us dupes and tools; Then pain compels th' impatient soul to seize On promised hopes of instantaneous ease; And weakness too with every wish complies, Worn out and won by importunities.

Troubled with something in your bile or blood, You think your doctor does you little good; And grown impatient, you require in haste The nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste; It comforts, heals, and strengthens; nay, you think It makes you better every time you drink; ”Then lend your name ”you're loth, but yet confess Its powers are great, and so you acquiesce: Yet think a moment, ere your name you lend, With whose 'tis placed, and what you recommend; Who tipples brandy will some comfort feel, But will he to the med'cine set his seal?

Wait, and you'll find the cordial you admire Has added fuel to your fever's fire: Say, should a robber chance your purse to spare, Would you the honour of the man declare?

Would you a.s.sist his purpose? swell his crime?

Besides, he might not spare a second time.

Compa.s.sion sometimes sets the fatal sign, The man was poor, and humbly begg'd a line; Else how should n.o.ble names and t.i.tles back The spreading praise of some advent'rous quack?

But he the moment watches, and entreats Your honour's name,--your honour joins the cheats; You judged the med'cine harmless, and you lent What help you could, and with the best intent; But can it please you, thus to league with all Whom he can beg or bribe to swell the scrawl?

Would you these wrappers with your name adorn Which hold the poison for the yet unborn?

No cla.s.s escapes them--from the poor man's pay, The nostrum takes no trifling part away: See! those square patent bottles from the shop, Now decoration to the cupboard's top; And there a favourite h.o.a.rd you'll find within, Companions meet! the julep and the gin.

Time too with cash is wasted; 'tis the fate Of real helpers to be call'd too late; This find the sick, when (time and patience gone) Death with a tenfold terror hurries on.

Suppose the case surpa.s.ses human skill, There comes a quack to flatter weakness still; What greater evil can a flatterer do, Than from himself to take the sufferer's view?

To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers, And rob a sinner of his dying hours?

Yet this they dare, and craving to the last, In hope's strong bondage hold their victim fast: For soul or body no concern have they, All their inquiry, ”Can the patient pay?

”And will he swallow draughts until his dying day?”

Observe what ills to nervous females flow, When the heart flutters, and the pulse is low; If once induced these cordial sips to try, All feel the ease, and few the danger fly; For, while obtain'd, of drams they've all the force, And when denied, then drams are the resource.

Nor these the only evils--there are those Who for the troubled mind prepare repose; They write: the young are tenderly address'd, Much danger hinted, much concern express'd; They dwell on freedoms lads are p.r.o.ne to take, Which makes the doctor tremble for their sake; Still if the youthful patient will but trust In one so kind, so pitiful, and just; If he will take the tonic all the time, And hold but moderate intercourse with crime; The sage will gravely give his honest word, That strength and spirits shall be both restored; In plainer English--if you mean to sin, Fly to the drops, and instantly begin.

Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh, To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?

That feeble sob, unlike the new-born note Which came with vigour from the op'ning throat, When air and light first rush'd on lungs and eyes, And there was life and spirit in the cries; Now an abortive, faint attempt to weep Is all we hear; sensation is asleep: The boy was healthy, and at first express'd His feelings loudly when he fail'd to rest; When cramm'd with food, and tighten'd every limb, To cry aloud was what pertain'd to him; Then the good nurse (who, had she borne a brain, Had sought the cause that made her babe complain) Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied To set the cry, and not the cause, aside; She gave her powerful sweet without remorse The sleeping cordial--she had tried its force, Repeating oft: the infant, freed from pain, Rejected food, but took the dose again, Sinking to sleep; while she her joy express'd, That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest: Soon may she spare her cordial; not a doubt Remains, but quickly he will resfc without.

This moves our grief and pity, and we sigh To think what numbers from these causes die; But what contempt and anger should we show, Did we the lives of these impostors know!

Ere for the world's I left the cares of school, One I remember who a.s.sumed the fool; A part well suited--when the idler boys Would shout around him, and he loved the noise; They called him Neddy;--Neddy had the art To play with skill his ignominious part; When he his trifles would for sale display, And act the mimic for a schoolboy's pay.

For many years he plied his humble trade, And used his tricks and talents to persuade; The fellow barely read, but chanced to look Among the fragments of a tatter'd book; Where, after many efforts made to spell One puzzling word, he found it--oxymel; A potent thing, 'twas said to cure the ills Of ailing lungs--the oxymel of squills: Squills he procured, but found the bitter strong And most unpleasant; none would take it long; But the pure acid and the sweet would make A med'cine numbers would for pleasure take.

There was a fellow near, an artful knave, Who knew the plan, and much a.s.sistance gave; He wrote the puffs, and every talent plied To make it sell: it sold, and then he died.

Now all the profit fell to Ned's control, And Pride and Avarice quarrell'd for his soul; When mighty profits by the trash were made, Pride built a palace, Avarice groan'd and paid; Pride placed the signs of grandeur all about, And Avarice barr'd his friends and children out.

Now see him Doctor! yes, the idle fool, The b.u.t.t, the robber of the lads at school; Who then knew nothing, nothing since acquired, Became a doctor, honour'd and admired; His dress, his frown, his dignity were such, Some who had known him thought his knowledge much; Nay, men of skill, of apprehension quick, Spite of their knowledge, trusted him when sick; Though he could neither reason, write, nor spell, They yet had hope his trash would make them well; And while they scorn'd his parts, they took his oxymel.