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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345277" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>For the Better</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, <br>With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed; <br>Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest, <br>How chim'd his Pulse, and how he took his Rest:<br>If shudd'ring Cold by Burnings was pursu'd,<br>And at what time the Aguish Fit renew'd. <br>The waining Wretch, each day become more faint, <br>In like proportion doubles his Complaint;<br>Now swooning Sweats he begs him to allay,<br>Now give his Lungs more liberty to play, <br>And take from empty'd Veins these scorching Heats away:<br>Or if he saw the Danger did increase, <br>To warn him fair, and let him part in Peace. <br>My Life for yours, no Hazard in your Case <br>The Quack replies; your Voice, your Pulse, your Face, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Good Signs afford, and what you seem to feel<br>Proceeds from Vapours, which we'll help with Steel.<br>With kindled Rage, more than Distemper, burns<br>The suff'ring Man, who thus in haste returns: <br>No more of Vapours, your belov'd Disease,<br>Your Ignorance's Skreen, your What-you-please,<br>With which you cheat poor Females of their Lives, <br>Whilst Men dispute not, so it rid their Wives. <br>For me, I'll speak free as I've paid my Fees;<br>My Flesh consumes, I perish by degrees:<br>And as thro' weary Nights I count my Pains,<br>No Rest is left me, and no Strength remains. <br>All for the Better, Sir, the Quack rejoins:<br>Exceeding promising are all these Signs.<br>Falling-away, your Nurses can confirm, <br>Was ne'er in Sickness thought a Mark of Harm. <br>The want of Strength is for the Better still; <br>Since Men of Vigour Fevers soonest kill. <br>Ev'n with this Gust of Passion I am pleas'd;<br>For they're most Patient who the most are seiz'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But let me see! here's that which all repels:<br>Then shakes, as he some formal Story tells, <br>The Treacle-water, mixt with powder'd Shells. <br>My Stomach's gone (what d'you infer from thence?)<br>Nor will with the least Sustenance dispense. <br>The Better; for, where appetite endures, <br>Meats intermingle, and no Med'cine cures. <br>The Stomach, you must know, Sir, is a Part–<br>But, sure, I feel Death's Pangs about my Heart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Nay then Farewel! I need no more attend<br>The Quack replies. A sad approaching Friend<br>Questions the Sick, why he retires so fast;<br>Who says, because of Fees I've paid the Last, <br>And, whilst all Symptoms tow'rd my Cure agree, <br>Am, for the Better, Dying as you see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Kingsmill+Finch">Anne Kingsmill Finch</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345277" data-title="For the Better de Anne Kingsmill Finch" data-description="A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, 
With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed; 
Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest, 
How chim'd his Pulse, and how he took his Rest:
If shudd'ring Cold by Burnings was pursu'd,
And at what time the ..."></div>
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