For thy Victorious cares, thy ready heart; Thy so small tyranny to so much Art; For visits made to my disease And me, (Alas) not to my Fees: For words, so often comforting with scope Of learned reason, not perswasive hope: For Med'cines so benigne, as seeme Cordials for Easterne Queenes that teeme. For setting now my condemn'd Body free, From that no God, but Devill Mercurie: For an assurance, I ne're shall A forfeit be to'th Admirall; Like those in Hospitals, who dare presume To make French Cordage now of English Rhume; Or slender Ropes, on which, in stead Of Pearle, revolted Teeth they thred; For limitting my Cheekes, that else had beene Swolne like the signe, o'th Head o'th Saracen; For preservation from a long Concealement of my Mother-Tongue; Whilst speechlesse, sow'd in Hoods, I should appeare, An Antarminian, silenc'd Minister; Or some Turks poyson'd Mute; so fret So fome at mouth, make signes, and spet. Whilst all I eat, goes downe, with lookes to sight More forc'd, than Quailes t'each full-cramm'd Isralite; Whose angry swallowing denotes They lay at Flux, and had sore throats. For these deliverances, and all the good My new returne of Senses, strength, and blood, Shall bring; for all I mine can boast, Whilst my Endimion is not lost, By'th feeble influence of my Starre; or turnes From me, to one whose Planet cleerer burnes; May (thou safe Lord of Arts) each Spring Ripe plenty of Diseases bring Unto the Rich; they still t'our Surgeons be Experiments, Patients alone to thee: Health, to the Poore; lest pitty shou'd (That gently stirs, and rules thy blood) Tempt thee from wealth, to such as pay like mee A Verse; then thinke, they give Eternity.
