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But I think doctors have always been either honest or dishonest.

quote by Leonard Baskin
Added by Lucian Velea
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Honest Men

Were just a stones throw
From burning hellfire
Does anybody know,
Where did all the heroes go?
Weve had our fill of
This gallery of scoundrels,
The leaders of the world,
Those power hungry liars
Rise up and sound the sirens,
Send out the searching powers,
All we need is a few good men
Send the s.o.s. and red alerts
All across the universe
Calling your honest men?
S.o.s. emergency,
Sinking fast and getting worse.
Wheres your honest men?
In some village, far away,
Or in a little town pub.
High on a mountain top
There must be an honest man
Calling all honest men
Throw out the tyrants,
The aged fat cats
Outlived their usefulness
They have led us to this mess
Make them answer,
Hold them to their promises,
And throw them in the street
If they wont tell the truth
S.o.s. and red alert
All across the universe,
Calling all honest men
S.o.s. emergency,
Sinking fast and getting worse,
Wheres your honest men?
To your stations,
Man the ramparts,
The barricades
We need new heroes urgently
We need a few good honest men
Calling all honest men
Calling all honest men
Call to him
He lives next door,
Across the street
On the upper floor.
Its our only hope we need him now
Send the s.o.s. and red alert,
All across the universe,

[...] Read more

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
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The Death Of Adolf Hitler’s Personal Physician

Why was Hilter’s personal physician
sentenced to death Daddy Daddy?

What did he do Daddy Daddy?

Karl Brant Hilter’s personal physician
was sentenced to death by the U.S.
War Crime Tribunal in August 1947!

Brandt was indicted with 22 other Nazi
SS doctors and SS officers! Brandt was
Reich Commissioner for Health and Sanitation!

Brandt was charged found guilty on all four
counts! Brandt was charged with conspiracy:
conspiracy in war crimes, aggressive wars,

membership in the criminal SS organization,
crimes against humanity, criminal acts
including participating in and consenting to

the use of concentration camp inmates;
to be used as test subjects in medical
experiments, including experiments on

women children without any anesthetic,
vivisection cutting up live people
without an anesthetic to reduce raw pain.

SS Medical Corp wore a serpent crest
on the collar patches of SS unit insignia.
From1935 to 1938 SS Medical Corps

began to serve a far more sinister purpose.
SS doctors serving in concentration camps
engaging in human medical experiments.

In 1936 SS doctors strengthen the master
race, culling the mentally disabled and
physically handicapped, vital work to assist

purification in Nazi Race Euthanasia Program.

By 1941 elite Waffen-SS doctors were highly
trained both in medical skills and combat
tactics, many receiving high combat awards.

SS doctors achieved such heights through
human medical experiments, notorious
experiments, at Aushwitz and Dachau

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Jack Honest, or the Widow and Her Son

Jack Honest was only eight years of age when his father died,
And by the death of his father, Mrs Honest was sorely tried;
And Jack was his father's only joy and pride,
And for honesty Jack couldn't be equalled in the country-side.

So a short time before Jack's father died,
'Twas loud and bitterly for Jack he cried,
And bade him sit down by his bedside,
And then told him to be honest whatever did betide.

John, he said, looking him earnestly in the face,
Never let your actions your name disgrace,
Remember, my dear boy, and do what's right,
And God will bless you by day and night.

Then Mr Honest bade his son farewell, and breathed his last,
While the hot tears from Jack's eyes fell thick and fast;
And the poor child did loudly sob and moan,
When he knew his father had left him and his mother alone.

So, as time wore on, Jack grew to be a fine boy,
And was to his mother a help and joy;
And, one evening, she said, Jack, you are my only prop,
I must tell you, dear, I'm thinking about opening a shop.

Oh! that's a capital thought, mother, cried Jack,
And to take care of the shop I won't be slack;
Then his mother said, Jackey, we will try this plan,
And look to God for his blessing, and do all we can.

So the widow opened the shop and succeeded very well,
But in a few months fresh troubles her befell--
Alas! poor Mrs Honest was of fever taken ill,
But Jack attended his mother with a kindly will.

But, for fear of catching the fever, her customers kept away,
And once more there wasn't enough money the rent to pay;
And in her difficulties Mrs Honest could form no plan to get out,
But God would help her, she had no doubt.

So, one afternoon, Mrs Honest sent Jack away
To a person that owed her some money, and told him not to stay,
But when he got there the person had fled,
And to return home without the money he was in dread.

So he saw a gentleman in a carriage driving along at a rapid rate,
And Jack ran forward to his mansion and opened the lodge-gate,
Then the gentleman opened his purse and gave him, as he thought, a shilling
For opening the lodge-gate so cleverly and so willing.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Still Smoking a Rant

A cigarette will soothe away
the stress and troubles of the day.
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young

When feel down and skies are grey
a smoke will drive the blues away.
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young.

A smoke will help you work and play
and do no harm in any way
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young.

New fads and fancies come along.
Without admitting they were wrong.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.

If they were wrong why should we
believe their latest theory.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.

Smokers die younger so they say
younger than who I ask today.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.

I have smoked since I was ten,
part of my daily regimen.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.

Presumably I should be dead.
If I believed the lies we’re fed
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.

The choice is yours to quit or smoke.
Myself I treat it as a joke.
The song the doctors sing today.
I am quite old

Both smokers and non smokers die
which I accept I don’t ask why
Despite the song the doctors sing.
I’m still smoking.

[...] Read more

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Poor Honest Men

(A.D. 1800)

Your jar of Virginny
Will cost you a guinea,
Which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten;
But light your churchwarden
And judge it according,
When I've told you the troubles of poor honest men.

From the Capes of the Delaware,
As you are well aware,
We sail which tobacco for England-but then,
Our own British cruisers,
They watch us come through, sirs,
And they press half a score of us poor honest men!

Or if by quick sailing
(Thick weather prevailing )
We leave them behind ( as we do now and then)
We are sure of a gun from
Each frigate we run from,
Which is often destruction to poor honest men!

Broadsides the Atlantic
We tumble short-handed,
With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend;
And off the Azores,
Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs
Are waiting to terrify poor honest men.

Napoleon's embargo
Is laid on all cargo
Which comfort or aid to King George may intend;
And since roll, twist and leaf,
Of all comforts is chief,
They try for to steal it from poor honest men!
With no heart for fight,
We take refuge in flight,
But fire as we run, our retreat to defend;
Until our stern-chasers
Cut up her fore-braces,
And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!

'Twix' the Forties and Fifties,
South-eastward the drift is,
And so, when we think we are making Land's End
Alas, it is Ushant
With half the King's Navy
Blockading French ports against poor honest men!

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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You Send Me

Darlin' you send me
Darlin' you send me
I know you send me
Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do
You thrill me
I know you thrill me
I know you thrill me
Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do
When at first I thought it infatuation
But now it's lasted so long
And now I find myself wanting to marry you
And take you home
Whoa, you send me
Darlin' you send me
I know you send me
Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do
When at first it was infatuation
But now it's lasted so long
And now I find myself wanting to marry you
And take you home
You send me
You send me
You send me
Honest you do
You send me

song performed by Dixie Chicks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Doctor's Day 2012

Most Doctors…
Try their best to heal;
Do not try to steal;
Use their ken to deal
With patient's problems and do feel!

All Doctors…
Are just humans too;
Try to be humane and do
Their duty with ethics due,
Upgrading knowledge new.

A few Doctors…
May make errors great;
May fleece patients poor;
May not perform to their best,
And earn a bad name for the rest!

Doctors…
Are a noble lot and lucky slot,
Whose toil is praised but soon forgot;
Sacrifice their life-times but cannot
Find time to check own health from rot!

Wish Doctors all, ‘A Happy Doctors Day! '
May they labour, come what may;
For their kind work, may God repay
With heaven, and bless them His way!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 29-05-2012

poem by John Celes
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Happy Doctor's Day,2012! ' Let All Indians Say Today

Respect the white coat that all doctors wear;
Respect the stethoscope with which they hear;
Respect the prescriptions they write and tear;
Respect all doctors for they truly care!

To treat diseases, some doctors do dare;
They try their best for all patients to fare;
Some of them are doyens, pioneers rare;
Some do miraculous feats, at which all stare!

Wish doctors all, ‘A Happy Doctors Day! '
Thank them for their hard work and pray today;
Remember, they keep diseases at bay;
Most doctors do their jobs in noble way!
'Happy Doctor's Day,2012 in INDIA! '
From a Doctor Dean, Medical Teacher and Poet
IRT PMC&H & RTS, Perundurai, TN., India
Copyright by Dr John Celes 01-06-2012

poem by John Celes
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Nevada Mental Institute

Is this really a mental hospital?
It didn't look that way to me
a man in his wheel chair
kept saying this to himself
'O I wish I was never born!
O I wish I was never born! '
Some gaunt apparitions
here and there
minding their own businesses
howling at me
'Stay away! '
Seeing the blood stains
on the carpet floor
I shivered with fear and fright
that they might
devour me and my body
drinking my blood
dripping on the floor
which caused me to refuse
to take any medications
Was nice they didn't impose them on me
simply a shot or two
once in a while
Gosh!
Let me get some sleep
can you stop these women
screaming at nights
in room where I was assigned
to stay and sleep?
Madness drove me to all the way
to that place
though I tried to escape
the hands who put me there
after a long ride to San Francisco
to see the one I wanted to see
but failed to find the person's number
on phone book
for his wife's name was
on the registered
Couldn't keep these followers
from my back
in fear of being murdered
I decided to kill myself
but not with enough money to buy
the twenty-five dolor silver knife
from the shop I visited
during the break of the bus stop
I ran for help
to the law enforcement man
who took me to the hospital

[...] Read more

poem by Sangnam Nam
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.

“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Curb Your Inner Larry

When humor is combined with inconsideration,
as it so often is in “Curb
Enthusiasm, ” men are like a hostile nation,
Arabs versus Jews and Serb
against the Croat. If you’re trying to be funny,
suppress your cruel proclivity
to sound embittered. Sweeten words like honey
to show your sensitivity.
Ignore the fact that being rude is lots of fun. Your hon-
esty is not a Stradivari
which people might enjoy to hear you playing on,
so always curb your inner Larry.
Martin Miller writes about the reunion of Larry David with the cast o the Seinfelds on a forthcoming episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm (LA Times, October 3,2009) : :
He knows he has issues. When asked about Dr. Phil's brief appearance on 'Curb's' second episode this season, he declares: 'I like him. I would definitely go to Dr. Phil if I could. You know what? I'm putting this out there right now that if he would take me, I'm going. Does he still have patients? I don't know if my problems are big enough for what he's used to.' A more immediate problem surfaces, and Dr. Phil is nowhere in sight. Larry spots something in his salad.”Is that a scallion? ' he frowns. 'I've got a date tonight.'
When informed he's probably one of the most eligible bachelors in town, he laughs. 'I wouldn't go that far, ' he said. You're rich, you're famous - you got a great sense of humor. 'Women don't like the humor when it's combined with inconsideration and insensitivity, ' he corrects. In real life, to some, his actions may be taken for inconsideration and insensitivity, but in the world of 'Curb' it's always hilarious and, to Larry, completely authentic. 'This show is the only chance that I have to be honest about anything, ' Larry said. 'Your life generally is so dishonest. Your dealings with your fellow human beings are so dishonest, everything is so dishonest, to have this opportunity to be honest is very refreshing to me.' Later, in the parking lot, the farewells are said. No handshake. 'Yeah, this was fun, ' Larry said

10/3/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Bring It On Home To Me / You Send Me

(sam cooke)
Well if you ever want to come home to me
Ill still be here waiting
If you ever change your mind
About leaving, leaving me behind
Baby bring it to me, bring your sweet loving
Bring it on home to me
I know I laughed when you left
But now I know that I only hurt myself
Honey bring it to me, bring your sweet loving
Bring it on home to me
Let me tell you all about it
Ill give you tulips and money too
That aint all, that aint all Id do for you
If youll bring it to me, bring youre sweet loving
Bring it on home to me
You know Ill always be your slave
Until Im buried, buried in my grave
Oh honey bring it to me, bring your sweet loving
Bring it on home to me
I tried to treat you right
But you stayed out, stayed out late at night
But I forgive you
Bring it to me, bring your sweet loving
Bring it on home to me
Just remember this one thing darlin that
You, you, you send me, you know this one
You, you know darlin you send me
And I know that you, you thrill me
Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do
And I wanna tell you one thing that
And I know this one thing that
You send me honest you do, honest you do
Honest you do, let me tell you
When I get home youre always there for me
And I know that youre gonna send me
Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do
I know, I know, I know, I know, I know
Well you thrill me
Darlin youre always gonna send me

song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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Independence

Happy the bard (though few such bards we find)
Who, 'bove controlment, dares to speak his mind;
Dares, unabash'd, in every place appear,
And nothing fears, but what he ought to fear:
Him Fashion cannot tempt, him abject Need
Cannot compel, him Pride cannot mislead
To be the slave of Greatness, to strike sail
When, sweeping onward with her peacock's tail,
Quality in full plumage passes by;
He views her with a fix'd, contemptuous eye,
And mocks the puppet, keeps his own due state,
And is above conversing with the great.
Perish those slaves, those minions of the quill,
Who have conspired to seize that sacred hill
Where the Nine Sisters pour a genuine strain,
And sunk the mountain level with the plain;
Who, with mean, private views, and servile art,
No spark of virtue living in their heart,
Have basely turn'd apostates; have debased
Their dignity of office; have disgraced,
Like Eli's sons, the altars where they stand,
And caused their name to stink through all the land;
Have stoop'd to prostitute their venal pen
For the support of great, but guilty men;
Have made the bard, of their own vile accord,
Inferior to that thing we call a lord.
What is a lord? Doth that plain simple word
Contain some magic spell? As soon as heard,
Like an alarum bell on Night's dull ear,
Doth it strike louder, and more strong appear
Than other words? Whether we will or no,
Through Reason's court doth it unquestion'd go
E'en on the mention, and of course transmit
Notions of something excellent; of wit
Pleasing, though keen; of humour free, though chaste;
Of sterling genius, with sound judgment graced;
Of virtue far above temptation's reach,
And honour, which not malice can impeach?
Believe it not--'twas Nature's first intent,
Before their rank became their punishment,
They should have pass'd for men, nor blush'd to prize
The blessings she bestow'd; she gave them eyes,
And they could see; she gave them ears--they heard;
The instruments of stirring, and they stirr'd;
Like us, they were design'd to eat, to drink,
To talk, and (every now and then) to think;
Till they, by Pride corrupted, for the sake
Of singularity, disclaim'd that make;
Till they, disdaining Nature's vulgar mode,
Flew off, and struck into another road,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Me, I'm dishonest, and you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for.

quote by Johnny Depp
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An Epistle To William Hogarth

Amongst the sons of men how few are known
Who dare be just to merit not their own!
Superior virtue and superior sense,
To knaves and fools, will always give offence;
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,
So nice is jealousy, a rival there.
Be wicked as thou wilt; do all that's base;
Proclaim thyself the monster of thy race:
Let vice and folly thy black soul divide;
Be proud with meanness, and be mean with pride.
Deaf to the voice of Faith and Honour, fall
From side to side, yet be of none at all:
Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties,
Which Nature, in her bounty, good as wise,
To work our safety, and ensure her plan,
Contrived to bind and rivet man to man:
Lift against Virtue, Power's oppressive rod;
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one general comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes scarcely could define,
Whate'er of sin and dulness can be said,
Join to a Fox's heart a Dashwood's head;
Yet may'st thou pass unnoticed in the throng,
And, free from envy, safely sneak along:
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown
To saints whose lives are better than his own,
Shall spare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
But should thy soul, form'd in some luckless hour,
Vile interest scorn, nor madly grasp at power;
Should love of fame, in every noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply justified:
Or, fond of knowledge, and averse to strife,
Shouldst thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Shouldst thou, by pale and sickly study led,
Pursue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy guide, and public good thy end,
Should every thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the passions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the sick Weal, and humanise mankind;
Rage in her eye, and malice in her breast,
Redoubled Horror grining on her crest,
Fiercer each snake, and sharper every dart,
Quick from her cell shall maddening Envy start.
Then shalt thou find, but find, alas! too late,
How vain is worth! how short is glory's date!
Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire,
To give more proof than virtue would desire,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Doctor's Day In India

Though once a year comes Doctor's Day,
Let us celebrate it;
‘A noble profession', all say;
Accolades, let's befit.

All doctors must improve health-care
Of world's sick/suffering souls;
Let doctors toil for sick-welfare,
Assuming varied roles.

The world needs better doctors more -
A dedicated lot;
They form the health-providers core -
A sacrificing slot!

May doctors work most selflessly;
May patients benefit;
May doctors serve them faultlessly,
And heal all, bit by bit!

poem by John Celes
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Country Doctors

The quiet country doctors
Of many a country town,
Whose lives are spent to service bent,
With scant hope of renown
Those sturdy country doctors,
That walk the healer's way,
At beck and call of one and all
That pain be smoothed away.

Those patient country doctors,
That journey day and night
By country roads to far abodes
To ease some sufferer's plight;
Thro' fire and flood and tempest
They make their pilgrimage
To bring release and healing peace,
The comforters of age.

Those modern country doctors,
They do not advertise;
Surcease they bring for suffering
And hope to pain-filled eyes.
These be their ends to be man's friends,
And so they shape and plan,
Divorced from greed to serve man's need,
And give their lives to man.

Those quiet country doctors,
Unsung, unknown to fame,
Refusing none what may be done
In skilful healing's name
Philosophers, friends, mentors,
Thro' pain and death and birth,
And who shall say that such as they
Are not salt of the earth?

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sonnet: May Doctors Heal with Love

Let all the world's people remain healthy!
Let scientists find cures for every disease;
Let health make everyone happy, wealthy;
Let's hope that mankind's pain and sufferings cease!

Let doctors make their profession nobler;
Let ethics guide their minds in decisions;
Let love of life covert their art simpler;
Let scalpels cut out better incisions!

Let doctors put their heart and soul to heal;
Let love of brethren bring out soothing words;
Let God help doctors, patients' anguish, feel;
Let words be magic potions and not swords!

Let doctors do just good, avoiding harm;
Let them serve God by making patients warm!

Dean of IRT PMC &H Perundurai, Tamilnadu
Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar MD wishes
"Happy Doctor's Day,2012! " to all doctors in India
Copyright by Dr John Celes 30-06-12

poem by John Celes
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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The Candidate

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.

Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,
The town had given some little share of wealth,
Couldst thou repine at being still a slave?
Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave?
Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those
Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes?
Whom, too refined for honesty and trade,
By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made;
Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules,
Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools;
With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime,
In such a manner, and at such a time,
To quit the stage; but men of real sense,
Who neither lightly give, nor take offence,
Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace,
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.
Enough of Authors--why, when scribblers fail,
Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale?
Why must they pity, why contempt express,
And why insult a brother in distress?
Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains
The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains;
Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom,
And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb.
Let those who without genius write, and write,
Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite,
The pen laid down, their course of folly run
In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone.
Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate,
That Francis once endeavour'd to translate?
Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head,

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poem by Charles Churchill
Added by Poetry Lover
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