Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/107

Nor wou'd our Wharton, Bates, and Glisson lye
In the Abyss of blind Obscurity.
Bat now such wond'rous Searches are forborn,
And Pæan's Art is by Divisions torn.
Then let your Charge attend, and I'll explain
How her lost Health your Science may regain.

Haste, and the matchless Atticus Address,
From Heav'n and great Nassau he has the Mace.
Th' oppress'd to his Asylum still repair;
Arts he supports, and Learning is his Care.
He softens the harsh Rigour of the Laws,
Blunts their keen Edge, and grinds their Harpy Claws;
And graciously he casts a pitying Eye
On the sad State of virtuous Poverty.
When-e'er he speaks, Heav'ns! how the list'ning Throng
Dwells on the melting Musick of his Tongue.
His Arguments are Emblems of his Mein,
Mild, but not faint; and forcing, tho' serene;
And when the Pow'r of Eloquence He'd try.
Here, Lightning strikes you; there, soft Breezes sigh.

To him you must your sickly State refer,
Your Charter claims him as your Visiter.
Your Wounds he'll close, and sov'reignty restore
Your Science to the Height it had before.

Then Nassau's Health shall be your glorious Aim,
His Life should be as lasting as His Fame.
Some Princes Claims from Devastations spring,
He condescends in pity to be King:
And when amidst his Olives plac'd, He stands,
And governs more by Candour than Commands: