ON SIRIS AND ITS ENEMIES
How can devoted Siris stand
Such dire attacks? The licensd band
With upcast eyes and visage sad
Proclaim, Alas! the worlds run mad.
The prelates book has turned their brains,
To set them right will cost us pains.
His drug too makes our patients sick;
And this doth vex us to the quick.
And vexed they must be, to be sure,
To find tar-water cannot cure,
But makes men sicker still and sicker,
And fees come thicker still and thicker.
Bursting with pity for mankind,
But to their own advantage blind,
Many a wight, with face of funral,
From mortar, still, and urinal,
Hastes to throw in his scurvy mite
Of spleen, of dulness, and of spite,
To furnish the revolving moons
With pamphlets, epigrams, lampoons,
Against tar-water. Youd know why?
Think who they are, youll soon descry
What means each angry doleful ditty,
Whether themselves or us they pity.