So all, like her, may evil fate defy, If Doctor Glibb, with saving hand, be nigh. Fame (now his friend), fear, novelty, and whim, And fashion, sent the varying sex to him: From this, contention in the village rose; And these the Dame espoused; the Doctor those, The wealthier part to him and science went; With luck and her the poor remain'd content. The Matron sigh'd; for she was vex'd at heart, With so much profit, so much fame, to part: "So long successful in my art," she cried, "And this proud man, so young and so untried!" "Nay," said the Doctor, "dare you trust your wives, The joy, the pride, the solace of your lives, To one who acts and knows no reason why, But trusts, poor hag! to luck for an ally? - Who, on experience, can her claims advance, And own the powers of accident and chance? A whining dame, who prays in danger's view, (A proof she knows not what beside to do;) What's her experience? In the time that's gone, Blundering she wrought, and still she blunders on:- And what is Nature? One who acts in aid Of gossips half asleep and half afraid: With such allies I scorn my fame to blend, Skill is my luck and courage is my friend: No slave to Nature, 'tis my chief delight To win my way and act in her despite:- Trust then my art, that, in itself complete, Needs no assistance and fears no defeat." Warm'd by her well-spiced ale and aiding pipe, The angry Matron grew for contest ripe. "Can you," she said, "ungrateful and unjust, Before experience, ostentation trust! What is your hazard, foolish daughters, tell? If safe, you're certain; if secure, you're well: That I have luck must friend and foe confess, And what's good judgment but a lucky guess? He boasts, but what he can do: --will you run From me, your friend! who, all lie boasts, have done? By proud and learned words his powers are known; By healthy boys and handsome girls my own: Wives! fathers! children! by my help you live; Has this pale Doctor more than life to give? No stunted cripple hops the village round; Your hands are active and your heads are sound; My lads are all your fields and flocks require; My lasses all those sturdy lads admire. Can this proud leech, with all his boasted skill, Amend the soul or body, wit or will? Does he for courts the sons of farmers frame, Or make the daughter differ from the dame? Or, whom he brings into this world of woe, Prepares he them their part to undergo? If not, this stranger from your doors repel, And be content to BE and to be WELL." She spake; but, ah! with words too strong and plain; Her warmth offended, and her truth was vain: The many left her, and the friendly few, If never colder, yet they older grew; Till, unemploy'd, she felt her spirits droop, And took, insidious aid! th' inspiring cup; Grew poor and peevish as her powers decay'd, And propp'd the tottering frame with stronger aid, Then died! I saw our careful swains convey, From this our changeful world, the Matron's clay,