WHAT though some monstrous Things yt wear Physitians Names, & Looks, And all things but their Books, The onely licence'd Murderers are, Traders in Deaths, wch They so dear doe sell, That They undoe oftimes before they kell? The Art is Noble still, & can Bid Death her distance keep Though Age gins to be steep, And downward bends ye hoary Man: Physik is Lifes Reserve, & can make way For routed Nature not to loose ye Day. And in this potent Art our Saint A Master was: yet He Ambitious is to be Skilld deeper yet, & to acquaint With Mystik Physik, wch may both restore And make his Patients Live for evermore. In ye fair Beds of Paradise He searcheth every Place To find each herb of grace, In which most heavnly virtue lies. And makes a Soveraigne Purge, whose Power divine Serves to clense Hearts, & grossest Soules refine. But His cheife Simple is that Tree, Upon whose every Bough And Leaf pure Life doth grow; And this his JESUS is, whom He Folds up in Papyr, & doth freely send For all sick soules to ye Worlds furthest end. No Physik like to Gospell is, Which He himselfe did trie Upon himselfe, & by Its virtue still doth live: Tis this Which purgeth all Corruption, & doth wring The deadly poyson from Deaths conquerd sting. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOWERS OF SIMON RODIA; FOR HOWARD W. SWENSON 1903-1081 by KAREN SWENSON JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN THE POWER OF MUSIC by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH CRICKET ON THE HEARTH by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER NIGHT AND MORNING SONGS: 14. RING-DOVE SONG by GORDON BOTTOMLEY IF I COULD TOUCH by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |