_Shakespeare’s Garland. Being a Collection of New Songs, Ballads, Roundelays, Catches, Glees, Comic Serenatas, etc., performed at the Jubilee at Stratford-upon-Avon_, 1769, p. 21. This piece was set to music by Dibdin. ANONYMOUS, 1778 “_Shakespeare’s Bedside, or his Doctors enumerated._” Old Shakespeare was sick;—for a doctor he sent;— But ’twas long before any one came: Yet at length his assistance Nic Rowe did present, Sure all men have heard of his name. As he found that the Poet had tumbled his bed, He smooth’d it as well as he could; He gave him an anodyne, comb’d out his head, But did his complaint little good. Doctor Pope to incision at once did proceed, And the Bard for the simples he cut; For his regular practice was always to bleed, Ere the fees in his pocket he put. Next Theobald advanc’d, who at best was a quack, And dealt but in old women’s stuff; Yet he caus’d the Physician of Twick’nam to pack, And the patient grew cheerful enough. Next Hanmer, who fees ne’er descended to crave, In gloves lily-white did advance; To the Poet the gentlest of purges he gave, And, for exercise, taught him to dance. One Warburton then, though allied to the Church, Produc’d his alternative stores; But his med’cines the case so oft left in the lurch, That Edwards kick’d him out of doors. Next Johnson arriv’d to the patient’s relief, And ten years he had him in hand; But, tir’d of his task, ’tis the general belief, He left him before he could stand. Now Capell drew near,—not a Quaker more prim,— And numbered each hair on his pate; By styptics, call’d stops, he contracted each limb, And crippled for ever his gait. From Gopsall then strutted a formal old goose, And he’d cure him by inches, he swore; But when the poor Poet had taken one dose, He vow’d he would swallow no more. But Johnson, determin’d to save him, or kill, A second prescription display’d; And, that none might find fault with his drop or his pill, Fresh doctors he call’d to his aid. First Steevens came loaded with black-letter books, Of fame more desirous than pelf; Such reading, observers might read in his looks, As no one e’er read but himself. Then Warner, by Plautus and Glossary known, And Hawkins, historian of sound; Then Warton and Collins together came on, For Greek and Potatoes renown’d. With songs on his pontificalibus pinn’d, Next Percy the great did appear; And Farmer, who twice in a pamphlet had sinn’d, Brought up his empirical rear. “The cooks the more numerous, the worse is the broth,” Says a proverb I well can believe; And yet to condemn them untried I am loth, So at present shall laugh in my sleeve.