Song XXXI. Elixir L'argent

Tho' with puffs daily papers are cramm'd, Sir, With antidotes for ev'ry ail, I'll shew a specific not shamm'd, Sir, A Nostrum which never can fail. The Drop and Pill May heal or kill, As Doctors on Doctors have done; But snug and sure, To work a cure, Apply th' Elixir l'Argent.

For weak conscience 'tis an Emetic; A Restorative for a lost fame; If fear gravels you, this Di'retic Discharges each symptom of shame. Like Achilles from Styx, No would will fix When this Unguentum is on. Nay, chuse to anoint Ev'n Justice's point, 'Tis blunt by Elixir l'Argent.

'Tis a Stiptic to stop maidens scruples, An Opiate makes jealousy rest; 'Tis a Lecture where all men are pupils, Art and science without it a jest. Be witty, be wise, Win Learning's prize, This Recipe want your're undone: Merit vainly may strive, No genius can thrive, But the genius who gets the l'Argent.

His Honour demurs to a hearing, The Agent demurs to his plan, The Witness demurs to his swearing, And Madam demurs to her man; Yet each sick breast Demurs digest, Secundum artem they're gone, When a Quantum suff. Is took of the stuff, Elixir nouveau de l'Argent.

When sickness voluptuousness seizes, The medical corps in array, Sword by side take the field 'gainst diseases, And, Swiss-like, give battle for pay. Not a word of Self, Accepting the pelf, That lesson the learned ne'er con, But saith we're flamm'd, We might dye and be damn'd, But for our Elixir l'Argent.