Classic Poem

Doctor Horoscope

This wight all mercenary projects tries,
And knows, that to be rich is to be wise.
By useful observations he can tell
The sacred charms that in true sterling dwell.
How gold makes a patrician of a slave,
A dwarf an Atlas, a Thersites brave.
It cancels all defects, and in their place
Finds sense in Brownlow, charms in Lady Grace.
It guides the fancy, and directs the mind;
No bankrupt ever found a fair one kind.

So truly Horoscope its virtue knows,
To this bright idol 'tis, alone, he bows;
And fancies that a thousand pound supplies
The want of twenty thousand qualities.

Long has he been of that amphibious fry,
Bold to prescribe, and busy to apply.
His shop the gazing vulgar's eyes employs
With foreign trinkets, and domestic toys.

Here, mummies lay most reverendly stale,
And there, the tortoise hung her coat o'mail;
Not far from some huge shark's devouring head
The flying fish their finny pinions spread.
Aloft in rows large poppy heads were strung,
And near a scaly alligator hung.
In this place, drugs in musty heaps decayed,
In that, dried bladders, and drawn teeth were laid.

An inner room receives the numerous shoals
Of such as pay to be reputed fools.
Globes stand by globes, volumes on volumes lie,
And planetary schemes amuse the eye.
The sage, in velvet chair, here lolls at ease,
To promise future health for present fees.
Then, as from tripod, solemn shams reveals,
And what the stars know nothing of, foretells.

One asks, how soon Panthea may be won,
And longs to feel the marriage fetters on.
Others, convinced by melancholy proof,
Enquire when courteous Fates will strike 'em off.

Some, by what means they may redress the wrong,
When fathers the possession keep too long.
And some would know the issue of their cause,
And whether gold can sodder up its flaws.
Poor pregnant Lais his advice would have,
To lose by art what fruitful Nature gave:
And Portia old in expectation grown,
Laments her barren curse, and begs a son.
Whilst Iris his cosmetic wash would try,
To make her bloom revive, and lovers die.
Some ask for charms, and other philtres choose,
To gain Corinna, and their quartans lose.
Young Hylas, botched with stains too foul to name,
In cradle here renews his youthful frame:
Cloyed with desire, and surfeited with charms,
A hot-house he prefers to Julia's arms.
And old Lucullus would th'arcanum prove,
Of kindling in cold veins the sparks of love.

Bleak Envy these dull frauds with pleasure sees,
And wonders at the senseless mysteries.