Classic Poem

You , like a Doctor, on the Dying now,
Your Skill did, but, as on your Patients, show;
So, when e'er you, to save Life, go about,
You Vital Heat, which keeps it in, put out;
With Fatal Thumb, and Finger, so you steal
Life from the Vein, the Thread of Life you feel;
Your Dying Candle, like your Patients too,
Damn'd Doctor! now, is Treated by you, who,
Reviving it, have it extinguish'd, so,
At your Bold Hand's Approach, the Dying Flame
Trembled, and Paler, Patient-like, became;
So them, whom longest you wou'd keep alive,
From Dying, as it were too, wou'd revive,
Of Life, you soonest, by your Aid, deprive;
Thus, all your Patients (we see) must endure
Less Danger from their own Ills, than your Cure;
By your Skill, you (to save them) on them try,
And make them last more, you more suddenly,
But like your Wasted Candle, make 'em die;
Till that your Aid does their Destruction grow,
To make them, by it, but the sooner so,
To Waste, to Tremble, Stink, and out to go;