You hate these doctors; well! but were a friend
And doctor one, your fears would have an end: 
My cousin Mollet—­Scotland holds him now —
Is above all men skilful, all allow;
Of late a Doctor, and within a while
He means to settle in this favoured isle: 
Should he attend you, with his skill profound,
You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.” 
   When men in health against Physicians rail,
They should consider that their nerves may fail;
Who calls a Lawyer rogue, may find, too late,
On one of these depends his whole estate;
Nay, when the world can nothing more produce,
The Priest, th’ insulted priest, may have his use;
Ease, health, and comfort lift a man so high,
These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy;
Pain, sickness, langour, keep a man so low,
That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow: 
Happy is he who through the medium sees
Of clear good sense—­but Gwyn was not of these. 
   He heard and he rejoiced:  “Ah! let him come,
And till he fixes, make my house his home.” 
Home came the Doctor—­he was much admired;
He told the patient what his case required;
His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink,
When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think. 
Thus join’d peculiar skill and art profound,
To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound. 
   With such attention, who could long be ill? 
Returning health proclaim’d the Doctor’s skill. 
Presents and praises from a grateful heart
Were freely offer’d on the patient’s part;
In high repute the Doctor seem’d to stand,
But still had got no footing in the land;
And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair,
He felt disposed to fix his station there: 
To gain his purpose he perform’d the part
Of a good actor, and prepared to start;
Not like a traveller in a day serene,
When the sun shone and when the roads were clean;
Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray,
The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way;
But in a season when the sharp east wind
Had all its influence on a nervous mind;
When past the parlour’s front it fiercely blew,
And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew,
This strange physician said—­“Adieu!  Adieu! 
Farewell!—­Heaven bless you!—­if you should—­but no,
You need not fear—­farewell! ’tis time to go.” 
   The Doctor spoke; and as the patient heard,
His old disorders (dreadful train!) appear’d;
“He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress
Upon his nerves that he could not express;
Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps
Might meet his death, and surely a relapse.” 
   So, as the Doctor seem’d intent to part,
He cried in terror—­“Oh! be where thou art: 
Come, thou art young, and unengaged; oh! come,
Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home;
I have now symptoms that require thine aid,
Do, Doctor, stay:”—­th’ obliging Doctor stay’d.