"But soon a loud and hasty summons calls, Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls; Anon a figure enters, quaintly neat, All pride and business, bustle and conceit, With looks unalter'd by these scenes of woe, With speed that entering speaks his haste to go; He bids the gazing throng around him fly, And carries Fate and Physic in his eye; A potent quack, long versed in human ills, Who first insults the victim whom he kills, Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect, And whose most tender mercy is neglect.
Paid by the Parish for attendance here, He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer.
In haste he seeks the bed where misery lies, Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes; And, some habitual queries hurried o'er, Without reply, he rushes to the door; His drooping patient, long inured to pain, And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain; He ceases now the feeble help to crave Of man, and mutely hastens to the grave."
THE END.