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Anne Kingsmill Finch - For The Better
Work rating: Low

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 Aguish Fit renew`d. 
The waining Wretch, each day become more faint, 
In like proportion doubles his Complaint;
Now swooning Sweats he begs him to allay,
Now give his Lungs more liberty to play, 
And take from empty`d Veins these scorching Heats away:
Or if he saw the Danger did increase, 
To warn him fair, and let him part in Peace. 
My Life for yours, no Hazard in your Case 
The Quack replies; your Voice, your Pulse, your Face, 

Good Signs afford, and what you seem to feel
Proceeds from Vapours, which we`ll help with Steel.
With kindled Rage, more than Distemper, burns
The suff`ring Man, who thus in haste returns: 
No more of Vapours, your belov`d Disease,
Your Ignorance`s Skreen, your What-you-please,
With which you cheat poor Females of their Lives, 
Whilst Men dispute not, so it rid their Wives. 
For me, I`ll speak free as I`ve paid my Fees;
My Flesh consumes, I perish by degrees:
And as thro` weary Nights I count my Pains,
No Rest is left me, and no Strength remains. 
All for the Better, Sir, the Quack rejoins:
Exceeding promising are all these Signs.
Falling-away, your Nurses can confirm, 
Was ne`er in Sickness thought a Mark of Harm. 
The want of Strength is for the Better still; 
Since Men of Vigour Fevers soonest kill. 
Ev`n with this Gust of Passion I am pleas`d;
For they`re most Patient who the most are seiz`d. 

But let me see! here`s that which all repels:
Then shakes, as he some formal Story tells, 
The Treacle-water, mixt with powder`d Shells. 
My Stomach`s gone (what d`you infer from thence?)
Nor will with the least Sustenance dispense. 
The Better; for, where appetite endures, 
Meats intermingle, and no Med`cine cures. 
The Stomach, you must know, Sir, is a Part–
But, sure, I feel Death`s Pangs about my Heart. 

  Nay then Farewel! I need no more attend
The Quack replies. A sad approaching Friend
Questions the Sick, why he retires so fast;
Who says, because of Fees I`ve paid the Last, 
And, whilst all Symptoms tow`rd my Cure agree, 
Am, for the Better, Dying as you see.
Source
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