Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PHYSIK, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT

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PHYSIK, by            
First Line: Strait for ye doctor send
Last Line: Who ly'st just at the point of everlasting death?
Subject(s): Illness

STRAIT for ye Doctor send:
That's thy first word, & hastiest care;
When some Disease, or but ye fear
Of it, hath made thee sick. And I commend
Thy diligence, provided thou
What thou allow'st thy self wilt but thyself allow.


Thy Minde's as much & more
Thyself, than is thy Body: be
Impartial then, & equalie
At least dispense thy providences store;
Especaly since thou mayst finde
More than a Spittle of Diseases in thy Minde.


The Aigue of cold Fear
Doth nip thee up; or Lusts dogdays
A burning Fever in the rayse.
The Boulimie of Avarice doth tear
Thy restless ever-hungry heart,
Or thou in Prodagalities Consumption art.


Pride's dangerous Tympanie
Thee to a monstrous bulk doth swell;
Or Drunkenesses Dropsie fill
But not suffice thee: Curiositie
With a wilde Itch doth hant thee, or
The Gout of Lazines make thee unfitt to stirr.


Ah most diseased thing!
And darst thou still forbear to fly
To Physiks Sanctuary? Why,
Since Fear of Dying thee so deep doth sting,
Drawst thou securely thy short breath,
Who ly'st just at the point of everlasting Death?

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