THE PHYSICIAN

With us there was a doctor of physic;

In all this world was none like him to pick

For talk of medicine and surgery;

For he was grounded in astronomy.

He often kept a patient from the pall

By horoscopes and magic natural.

Well could he tell the fortune ascendent

Within the houses for his sick patient.

He knew the cause of every malady,

Were it of hot or cold, of moist or dry,

And where engendered, and of what humour;

He was a very good practitioner.

The cause being known, down to the deepest root,

Anon he gave to the sick man his boot.

Ready he was, with his apothecaries,

To send him drugs and all electuaries;

By mutual aid much gold they’d always won-

Their friendship was a thing not new begun.

Well read was he in Esculapius,

And Deiscorides, and in Rufus,

Hippocrates, and Hali, and Galen,

Serapion, Rhazes, and Avicen,

Averrhoes, Gilbert, and Constantine,

Bernard and Gatisden, and John Damascene.

In diet he was measured as could be,

Including naught of superfluity,

But nourishing and easy. It’s no libel

To say he read but little in the Bible.

In blue and scarlet he went clad, withal,

Lined with a taffeta and with sendal;

And yet he was right chary of expense;

He kept the gold he gained from pestilence.

For gold in physic is a fine cordial,

And therefore loved he gold exceeding all.