LONDONS Disease, and Cure: BEING A Soveraigne Receipt against the PLAGUE, for Prevention sake.
THere's none so
ignorant, I hope, but knowes,
Medicines are
good, as well in
Verse, as
Prose;
Therefore consulting with my
Thoughts, I found,
A rare
Receipt to make th'
Infected sound:
And knowing that the
Almighty doth forbid,
In
Times of
Dangers, fecrets should be hid;
I thought it was my
Duty to make known,
This
Cath'lick Medicine unto every one;
That so their sad
Distempers may be
heal'd,
The
cruel natre of this
ssad Disease,
Is so
otragious, that if
speedy ease
Be not
Presecrib'd, the
Patient must be
lost,
But here's a
medicine without
Price, or
Cost;
Therefore let
those that are
inclin'd to be
My willing
Patients, read, obeferve, and see
That my
Prescriptions are, they shall be
good,
And very
cheap, not hindring them from
food
Or
honest labour; neither need they doubt
Restraint, but may with
courage go about
Lawfull
Occasions; therefore without a
Bribe,
Harken with
patience, whilft I thus
Prescribe;
Receipt.
WArm
Tears, distilled from a
pensive Heart,
With
herb-of-grace, mixt with
divinest art,
Prepar'd in th' morning when the
Light begins
To shew it self, not
gathired in our
Sins;
But when the
Sun of
Grace hath spread his
Rayes,
Then we must
Gather hath spread his
Rayes,
Then we must
Gather it, and keep't with praife;
It must be
laid, where neither
Aire of
Lust,
Nor
Heat of
Envy, nor th' injurios
Rust
Of
Malice can come near it, nor the
Breath
Of
Covethousness infect, for sudden
Death
Will
seize upon it, if we take not
heed.
'Tis also good (if possible) to
Bleed,
Both at the
Eyes, and
Heart, for if those
veins
Be not well
breathed, the
Physitians pains
Will prove invalide; if
occasion urge,
The
Patient must b'advis'd to take a
Purge,
Or elfe a
Vomit; When th'
infected Blood
Is
clens'd, a pleasant
Cordial will be
good;
But let the
Patient not forget to call,
With
Thanks, unto the
Sacred Hospitall;
And then he may with
covrage be affur'd
The
worst is past, and his
Distemper cur'd:
And if he keep a well compofed
Will,
He need not fear th'
Apothecaries Bill;
Each
Item's a
Receipt, and all his
Cost,
Returns to
Profit, nothing can be lost
Eut the
Disease, which the great
Chyron cures,
Whilst the
Physitian all the
pain indures.
Oh happy
Patieut (if the
Doctor please)
'Tis
Health to fall in love with thy
Disease!
Oh teach me to be
Sick, or I will make
My fealf a
Patient for the
Doctors sake!
Oh ! who is he that would not be
content
With a
Disease, to be his
Patient?
He has an
Antidote, that can
expell
All
Griefs; 'tis
dangerous sick ness to be
well:
Oh make me
sick to
Death (I mean) of
Sin,
That having
done, my
Doctor may
begin;
Without all doubt, that
Patient needs must
thrive.
That makes
Affliction his
Preparative:
Oh ! who would not
Adore so blest a
God?
Good natur'd
Children often kiss the
Rod:
And so, let us with
Patience learn t' indure
Our own
Distempers, and not doubt the
Cure;
The
Grand Physitian will not spare his
Skill,
If we
submit our felves unto his
Will;
The more our
Patience labours to
endure,
The
sooner will he make a
perfec Cure;
The
sacred Scriptures this rare
Cordial gives,
To let us know that our
Redeemer lives:
He
lives, who by his
living gives us
breath,
He
dy'd, and we are
living by his
Death:
Thus both in
Life and
'Death we must confess,
That He's the
Author of our
Happiness;
He is that
God, whose
Cross mst be our
sCrown,
Whose
shame our
honour, whose
reproach, renown;
His
Blood must be our
Bath, his
Wounds, our
Cure;
For 'tis his
Certainty that makes us
Sure:
Then let us like the
Ninevites, be found,
Whose
true Ropentance made them
truly sound:
THough as (like carelesst
Jonas) now we lye
In the
Whales-belly of our
Sins; let's
cry
As
Jonas did, and
Heav'n will foon advance,
ANd bless us with a quick
Deliverance:
Delayes are
dangerous, 'tis therefore
good
To take a
Remedy, before the
Blood
Be quire
infected, 'tis a sign the
Cure
Is
difficult, and will not long
endure
A
Physicall oppose, let's therefore ftrive
To quallifie it by a
Corrosive.
A
Bath of
Tears is good, and will expel
The black
diseases of an
Infidedl;
The Chymistry of
sighs, and doubled
groans,
Will melt those
hearts, which
sin hath turn'd to
stones.
But one thing more is singularly
good,
The dear
Remembrance of our
Saviors Blood;
Nor will it be unto our
Souls a loss,
To take the
Lignum vitae of his
Cross;
And that
sick-Soul that knows how to procure
The
Balm of
Gilliad, may (by Faith) asure
Himfelf a
Remedy, Tears mixt with
Rue,
Will make the
Patient bid his
Grief adue.
Finis.
LONDON, Printed by Edward Crowch, dwelling on Snow-hill. 1665.