Classic Poem

 In these and fifty other parts,
The changeful God display'd his arts,
Equal in all—whate'er his will
Urg'd him to act, he play'd with skill;
To him it was indifferent quite,
Or time, or distance, day, or night,
From realm to realm convey'd as soon
As if he rode an Air-Balloon .

 Amongst the numerous occupations,
Which carried him thro' different nations,
Impell'd by love, or spleen, or whim,
Fond o'er their various scenes to skim,
To Physic also he laid claim,
And the Art sanction'd with his name:
Tho' never bred at any college,
Nor from Diplomas claiming knowledge,
By much grimace, and more disguise,
The multitude esteem'd him wise.
The practice fill'd his hours of leisure,
To him 'twas frolic, change, and pleasure,
By it such scenes to him were shown,
As else he never might have known;
It taught him easily to find
What foolish tricks can gull mankind.

 'Twas thus this Godship pass'd his days,
Or quite incog, or in a blaze;
His thoughts on some new project running,
To excercise his various cunning.
No wonder then the Muses went
Sometimes, as now, on a wrong scent.
No wonder that they thus, in vain,
Search'd for the Leader of their train,
Who, busied on his own affairs,
Had at this time neglected theirs;
For at the instant I am speaking,
While they their laurell'd Chief were seeking,
His Highness, by conveyance neat,
Had quitted his poetic seat,
And by a medical vagary
Induc'd his plan of life to vary,
Disguis'd, in L ONDON now sat down,
The greatest Quack in all the town,
And station'd snug on L UDGATE H ILL ,
By Letters Patent sold his Pill,
Whose virtues could, as hand-bills swore,
Life's secret labyrinths explore,
Each lurking mischief ferret out,
And all disorders fairly rout.—
O, Reader! had we time to stop,
And lounge ten minutes in his shop,
To mark his patients' various faces,
Relating all their piteous cases,
Whilst he, with scientific smile,
Feels for their pains, their nerves, their bile,
And vows, if they'll but take his pills,
He'll free them soon from all their ills;
The scene indeed might prove inviting,
Yet the strict critic laws of writing,
Which no such sportive licence know,
Command that we straight forward go;
No deviation's here permitted,
Nor must our turnpike road be quitted,
Till on their own, or other ground,
Th' A ONIAN Maids once more are found:
Thanks to our stars, our point in view
Demands not a mysterious clue;
Nor needs it, to make matters clear,
Back to P ARNASSUS that we steer,
Since these high Dames, who far outvie
All others in sagacity,
No sooner found A POLLO gone,
Than they their travelling wings put on,
And posting thro' the yielding air,
Full speed to L ONDON all repair:
Arriv'd, there could not be a doubt
But they would find him quickly out;
They nos'd his Highness with the ease
That cats smell mice, or mice smell cheese,
Nor in this great bamboozled town
Was K ATTAFELTO better known,
Or D OCTOR G RAHAM'S powerful bed,
Of which such wond'rous things were said;
On each dead wall of every street
His pasted folio puffs they meet,
“Descriptive of his pill's success,
“Which scores were ready to confess,
“How small their price, how great their pow'rs,
“And what the Doctor's usual hours.”