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.

Life, Poetry, Works
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