Classic Poem

If any body politick,
Of plenty or ease be very sick,
There's a Physitian come to Town,
Of far fetcht fame and high renown:
Though call'd a Mountebank, 'tis meant,
Both words being French , a Parliament;
Who from Geneva and Amsterdam ,
From Germany and Scotland came;
Now lies in London , but the place,
If men say true, is in his face
His scaffold stands on Tower hill ,
Where he on Strafford try'd his skill:
Off went his head, you'l think him slain,
But straight 'twas voted on again
Diurnals are his weekly bills,
Which speak how many he cures or kills:
But of the Errata we'l advise,
For cure read kill, for truth read lies.
If any Traytor be diseased
With a sore neck, and would be eased;
There is a pill, they call a Vote,
Take it ex tempore it shall do't.
If any conscience be too strict,
Here's several pills, from Lectures pickt,
Which swallowed down will stretch it full,
As far as 'tis from this to Hull
Is any by religion bound,
Or Law, and would be looser found?
Here's a Glister which we call
His priviledge o're-topping all
Is any money left, or plate,
Or goods? bring't in at any rate:
He'l melt three shillings into one,
And in a minute leave you none
Here's powder to inspire the lungs,
Here's water that unties your tongues;
Spight of the law, 'twill set you free,
To speak treason only lispingly.
Here's Leeches, which if well apply'd,
And fed, will stick close to your side,
Till your superfluous blood decay,
Then they'l break and drop away
But here's a soveraign Antidote,
Be sure our Soveraign never know't;
Apply it as the Doctour pleases,
'Twill cure all wounds and all diseases
A drug none but himself e're saw,
'Tis call'd a Fundamental Law:
Here's Glasses to delude your sight,
Dark Lanthornes here, here bastard light.
This if you conquer trebbles the men,
If loose a hundred, seems but ten
Here's Opium to lull asleep,
And here lie dangerous plots in steep
Here stands the safety of the Citty,
There hangs the invisible Committee
Plundring's the new Philosophers stone,
Turnes war to Gold, and Gold to none
And here's an Ordinance that shall,
At one full shot enrich you all.
He's skilled in the Mathmaticks,
And in his circle can do tricks
By raising spirits that can smell
Plots that are hatcht as deep as hell:
Which ever to themselves are known,
The Devil's ever kind to his own
All this he gratis doth, and saith,
He'l only take the publick faith
Flock to him then, make no delay,
The next fair wind he must away.