'Authority, authority!' they shout Whose minds, not large enough to hold a doubt, Some chance opinion ever entertain, By dogma billeted upon their brain. 'Ha!' they exclaim with choreatic glee, 'Here's Dabster if you won't give in to me— Dabster, sir, Dabster, to whom all men look With reverence!' The fellow wrote a book. It matters not that many another wight Has thought more deeply, could more wisely write On t' other side—that you yourself possess Knowledge where Dabster did but faintly guess. God help you if ambitious to persuade The fools who take opinion ready-made And 'recognize authorities.' Be sure No tittle of their folly they'll abjure For all that you can say. But write it down, Publish and die and get a great renown— Faith! how they'll snap it up, misread, misquote, Swear that they had a hand in all you wrote, And ride your fame like monkeys on a goat!
THE PSORIAD.
The King of Scotland, years and years ago, Convened his courtiers in a gallant row And thus addressed them: 'Gentle sirs, from you Abundant counsel I have had, and true: What laws to make to serve the public weal; What laws of Nature's making to repeal; What old religion is the only true one, And what the greater merit of some new one; What friends of yours my favor have forgot; Which of your enemies against me plot. In harvests ample to augment my treasures, Behold the fruits of your sagacious measures! The punctual planets, to their periods just, Attest your wisdom and approve my trust. Lo! the reward your shining virtues bring: The grateful placemen bless their useful king! But while you quaff the nectar of my favor I mean somewhat to modify its flavor By just infusing a peculiar dash Of tonic bitter in the calabash. And should you, too abstemious, disdain it, Egad! I'll hold your noses till you drain it! 'You know, you dogs, your master long has felt A keen distemper in the royal pelt— A testy, superficial irritation, Brought home, I fancy, from some foreign nation. For this a thousand simples you've prescribed— Unguents external, draughts to be imbibed. You've plundered Scotland of its plants, the seas You've ravished, and despoiled the Hebrides, To brew me remedies which, in probation, Were sovereign only in their application. In vain, and eke in pain, have I applied Your flattering unctions to my soul and hide: Physic and hope have been my daily food— I've swallowed treacle by the holy rood! 'Your wisdom, which sufficed to guide the year And tame the seasons in their mad career, When set to higher purposes has failed me And added anguish to the ills that ailed me. Nor that alone, but each ambitious leech His rivals' skill has labored to impeach By hints equivocal in secret speech. For years, to conquer our respective broils, We've plied each other with pacific oils. In vain: your turbulence is unallayed, My flame unquenched; your rioting unstayed; My life so wretched from your strife to save it That death were welcome did I dare to brave it. With zeal inspired by your intemperate pranks, My subjects muster in contending ranks. Those fling their banners to the startled breeze To champion some royal ointment; these The standard of some royal purge display And 'neath that ensign wage a wasteful fray! Brave tongues are thundering from sea to sea, Torrents of sweat roll reeking o'er the lea! My people perish in their martial fear, And rival bagpipes cleave the royal ear! 'Now, caitiffs, tremble, for this very hour Your injured sovereign shall assert his power! Behold this lotion, carefully compound Of all the poisons you for me have found— Of biting washes such as tan the skin, And drastic drinks to vex the parts within. What aggravates an ailment will produce—
