Epigram on Dr. Weezle

Officious, Sir, with strut and look so big, With lanthorn body and tremendous wig; Is't not enough, that for meer want of skill, You daily some unhappy patient kill? Must you, when all your filthy nostrums fail, Lurk, bailiff like, and drag your friends to jail; You take the life, take soul too, all you can, Turn bailiff for the Devil;—that's your plan. You lurk so cunning, and look out so well, The Devil need not doubt you'll furnish hell.