TO QUACKERY.
oddess! for such thou art, who rules
This honest and enlightened city;
True patroness of knaves and fools,
To thee we dedicate our ditty.
Whether in Barclay Street thou sittest,
Or, on papyrean pinions borne,
Dropping mercurial dews, thou flittest
Around thine own anointed Horne:70
Whether, arrayed in gown and band,
Thy pious zeal distributes Bibles,
Or, perched on Spooner’s classic hand,
Writes merry eulogistic libels;
Where’er we turn our raptured eyes,
We see this puffing generation,
Cheered by thy smile, propitious, rise
To profit, power, and reputation.
Then come, ye Quacks! the anthem swell;
Come, Allen, with thy lottery bills;
Come, four-herbed Angelis,70 who fell
From heaven in a shower of pills;
Come, Geib, whose potent word creates
Prime analytical musicians;
