When these our doctors fought,
For no better their word ere bought,
Cast a light on their shadow once its made,
Their shadow seen but never qualified to cure;

For greater good and sanctum fair,
Lingers hither the rapid lair,
Therein lies a cultivated good no less than so;
For sound achievement lest truly heard,
Errs on the side of Reason and turns away,
Aside from all lost thus motions,
Aside from all gained thus is satisfied;
To have effected insurrection by drugs of thine,
To have with dire persuasion a more in harm’s way;
Lingers hither the rapid lair,
Therein lies a deceptive good once so never lie.

As the patient begins and so enquires,
That smile the doctor makes but never astound,
Surely brings them to their lair and fathom brought;
Grieves they the patient once they live but never sound,
Delivers unto themselves at that which none harm be found
Once in their last stages thus the doctor moves away.

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Life, Poetry, Works
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