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Article A POETICAL REVERIE ON THE GOUT. Page 1 of 2 →
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A Poetical Reverie On The Gout.
A POETICAL REVERIE ON THE GOUT .
BY DR . PERFECT . -
c Men still are Men , and learn but wlien they FEEL . TO me most . happy , therefore , he appears , - Whom pains arthritic annually oppress , —¦ Force into streams of long-obstructed tears , _ As thoughts on thoughts in crude succession press . Poortorrur'd -wretch ' where ' s now the rich repast .
, , With high-sauc'd venison , or with turtle , stor'd ? The draught ne . ftarian , flattering to the taste ? The draught Circean , Love and Beauty pour'd . Ah ! what avails each object of delight ? In vain thy partner prompts to lead the dance : Thine eye is dim to every pleasing sight ;
In vain tliy feet to music ' s . sounds advance . Benumb'd and dull , you pass tbe sullen day , With agonies protract the leaden night , To vile Pandora ' s rage a passive prey : — When shall the gouty man obtain delight ? .. . . Shall flannels nine times difp'd of deepest blue
Blunt the sharp tooth of agony intense ? —Give the swell ' d foot to the capacious shoe : —< What ease do these auKiliaries dispense ? Now would your , thoughts . the fields of iEfher range , Torture recalls them—tells yovLymCre a man ; -For contemplation , draughts oftvhey you change ,
For potion nauseous , abdicate your can . Fool 1 not to know that , when the silken hose Sat proudly shining on your Sunday leg , Coarse yarn or worsted soon must v .-rap those toes , Now puff'd and blue as any redstart ' s egg . Short-sighted mortal I—spruce , and sleek , and trim
This hour in Fashion ' s giddy vortex whirl'd , AU humour , airs , caprice , bon ton , and whim ; The next , in sorrow and despondence hurl'd . Pleasure , what art thou ?—Why , a Syren ' s name , That Hits away on every moment ' s wing . Pain , what art thou—but vile excesses' shame , The child of sloth—of human pride the sting .
' Come , Wisdom , venerable sage ,. unsphere ' The throbbing darts that pierce each tender joint . ' O come , Philosophy , thy suppliant hear ; ' Of pung . uit malady , O biuut the point !'
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Poetical Reverie On The Gout.
A POETICAL REVERIE ON THE GOUT .
BY DR . PERFECT . -
c Men still are Men , and learn but wlien they FEEL . TO me most . happy , therefore , he appears , - Whom pains arthritic annually oppress , —¦ Force into streams of long-obstructed tears , _ As thoughts on thoughts in crude succession press . Poortorrur'd -wretch ' where ' s now the rich repast .
, , With high-sauc'd venison , or with turtle , stor'd ? The draught ne . ftarian , flattering to the taste ? The draught Circean , Love and Beauty pour'd . Ah ! what avails each object of delight ? In vain thy partner prompts to lead the dance : Thine eye is dim to every pleasing sight ;
In vain tliy feet to music ' s . sounds advance . Benumb'd and dull , you pass tbe sullen day , With agonies protract the leaden night , To vile Pandora ' s rage a passive prey : — When shall the gouty man obtain delight ? .. . . Shall flannels nine times difp'd of deepest blue
Blunt the sharp tooth of agony intense ? —Give the swell ' d foot to the capacious shoe : —< What ease do these auKiliaries dispense ? Now would your , thoughts . the fields of iEfher range , Torture recalls them—tells yovLymCre a man ; -For contemplation , draughts oftvhey you change ,
For potion nauseous , abdicate your can . Fool 1 not to know that , when the silken hose Sat proudly shining on your Sunday leg , Coarse yarn or worsted soon must v .-rap those toes , Now puff'd and blue as any redstart ' s egg . Short-sighted mortal I—spruce , and sleek , and trim
This hour in Fashion ' s giddy vortex whirl'd , AU humour , airs , caprice , bon ton , and whim ; The next , in sorrow and despondence hurl'd . Pleasure , what art thou ?—Why , a Syren ' s name , That Hits away on every moment ' s wing . Pain , what art thou—but vile excesses' shame , The child of sloth—of human pride the sting .
' Come , Wisdom , venerable sage ,. unsphere ' The throbbing darts that pierce each tender joint . ' O come , Philosophy , thy suppliant hear ; ' Of pung . uit malady , O biuut the point !'