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<DATE>2008-08-06</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>John Pas</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080711.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B01363">
<STC T="W">a2976b</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99886956</BIBNO>
<VID>181518</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 18 -->
<HEAD>AN ELEGY On the DEATH of Dr. THOMAS SAFFOLD, Who Departed this LIFE May the 12th, 1691.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L><HI>TOM SAFFOLD</HI> Dead, that famous <HI>Operator,</HI></L>
<L>And did no Blazing Star foretel the Matter?</L>
<L>No angry <HI>Comet</HI> with bright Flames her Ar&s;e-on,</L>
<L>Foretel the Death of &s;o Renown'd a <HI>Per&s;on?</HI></L>
<L>Ye ill-bred <HI>Stars,</HI> ye know when he was Living,</L>
<L>He was each Day from you &s;ome Skill receiving;</L>
<L>And could ye not afford one <HI>Link Cele&s;tial,</HI></L>
<L>To Light him from <HI>Black-Fryers Hou&s;e</HI> Terre&s;trial?</L>
<L>For very well ye Flaming Lights did know,</L>
<L>'Twas a dark way the <HI>Doctor</HI> had to go:</L>
<L>But we, alas! in vain his Ab&s;ence mourn;</L>
<L>For he is gone, <HI>thence never to Return</HI></L>
<L><HI>Te</HI>'s <HI>Hou&s;e again,</HI> who with his <HI>Bills</HI> alone,</L>
<L>Did with <HI>Bumfodder</HI> furni&s;h half the Town:</L>
<L>So Skill'd in <HI>Drugs</HI> and <HI>Ver&s;e,</HI> 'twas hard to &s;how it,</L>
<L>Whether was be&s;t, the <HI>Doctor</HI> or the <HI>Poet.</HI></L>
<L>For if one Read his <HI>Rimes,</HI> a Stool would follow,</L>
<L>As &s;ure as if he did a <HI>Bolus</HI> &s;wallow:</L>
<L>So for a double u&s;e they &s;erv'd for &s;ome,</L>
<L>Fir&s;t give a Purge, and then to wipe the <HI>Bum.</HI></L>
<L>His Skill in <HI>Phy&s;ick</HI> did his Fame advance,</L>
<L>Tho &s;ome accu&s;e him of dull Ignorance:</L>
<L><HI>Powder of Po&s;t</HI> may &s;ometimes do the Trick,</L>
<L>As we'l as <HI>Rhaharb, Senna, Agarick;</HI></L>
<L>For let the &s;ad Di&s;ea&s;e be what it will,</L>
<L>The Patients Faith helps more than Doctors Skill;</L>
<L>Be&s;ides he had &s;o quick, &s;o &s;hort a way,</L>
<L>No <HI>Patient</HI> under him long Grieving lay;</L>
<L>For was it <HI>Fever, Pox,</HI> or <HI>Calenture,</HI></L>
<L>His Drugs could either quickly Kill or Cure.</L>
<L>Sometimes perhaps his <HI>Guilded Pill</HI> prevails;</L>
<L>But if that fail, <HI>the Dead can tell no Tales,</HI></L>
<L>What if his Medicines thou&s;ands Lives &s;hould &s;pill?</L>
<L><HI>Hangmen</HI> and <HI>Quacks</HI> are Authoriz'd to Kill.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>How I and Lament ye who have had th' mi&s;hap,</L>
<L><HI>While ye for Plea&s;ure &s;ought, to find a Clap;</HI></L>
<L>Who now in <HI>Sweating-Tubs</HI> devoutly <HI>Drivel;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Faith Sparks,</HI> your Doctor's left you to the <HI>Devil;</HI></L>
<L>Throw Snot about and &s;hed your briny Tears:</L>
<L>Ye <HI>Shadwel Dames</HI> and <HI>Wapping Wa&s;tcoteers,</HI></L>
<L>Who blu&s;hing with your <HI>Urinals</HI> of Water,</L>
<L>Came to his Hou&s;e to <HI>under&s;tand the Matter,</HI></L>
<L>Lament ye <HI>Dam&s;els</HI> of our <HI>London City;</HI></L>
<L>(Poor unprovided <HI>Girls</HI>) tho Fair and Witty,</L>
<L>Who maskt, would to his Hou&s;e in couples come,</L>
<L>To under&s;tand your <HI>Matrimonial</HI> Doom;</L>
<L>To know what kind of <HI>Men</HI> you were to <HI>Marry,</HI></L>
<L>And how long time, <HI>poor things,</HI> you were to Tarry:</L>
<L>Your Oracle is Silent, none can tell</L>
<L>On whom his <HI>A&s;trologick Mantle</HI> fell;</L>
<L>For he when Sick refus'd all <HI>Doctor's</HI> Aid,</L>
<L>And only to his <HI>Pills</HI> Devotion Paid;</L>
<L>Yet it was &s;urely a mo&s;t &s;ad Di&s;a&s;ter,</L>
<L>The Sawcy Pills at la&s;t &s;hould Kill their <HI>Ma&s;ter.</HI></L>
</LG>
<DIV2 TYPE="epitaph">
<HEAD>His EPITAPH.</HEAD>
<L><HI>Here Lyes the Corps of</HI> Thomas Saffold,</L>
<L><HI>By Death, in&s;pite of Phy&s;ick, Bafft'd;</HI></L>
<L><HI>Who leaving off his working</HI> Loom,</L>
<L><HI>Did Learned</HI> Doctor <HI>&s;oon become.</HI></L>
<L><HI>To</HI> Poetry <HI>he made pretence,</HI></L>
<L><HI>Is plain</HI> to any man's own Sen&s;e:</L>
<L><HI>But he when Living thought it</HI> Sin</L>
<L>To hide his Talent in Napkin;</L>
<L><HI>Now Death does</HI> Poet Doctor <HI>crowd</HI></L>
<L><HI>Within the Limits of a Shrond.</HI></L>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P><HI>London:</HI> Printed for <HI>A. Turner,</HI> 1691.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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