The sick Lady, Nature, and the Doctor

BELINDA , in a languid way,
Reclin'd on satin sofa lay,
Her handmaid, Nature, standing by,
Gave animation for her eye,
And try'd, in ev'ry way she could,
A score of pranks to do her good.
        Belinda was a friend to art,
She lov'd it dearly at her heart;
The rose and lilly on her cheek
Declar'd it, tho' she did not speak:
Thus was a Doctor called in;
And not the most uncommon thing

Could happen in the universe,
The Lady ev'ry day grew worse.
        Nature, the malady, and Art,
Each perform'd their separate part;
The dart of Death, among them all,
Seem'd ev'ry hour as if 'twould fall,
And while they bandy'd it about,
The malady almost wore out.
        Nature and Art strove not in vain,
The Lady was restor'd again.
Her health establish'd, each now feel
Separate interest and zeal,
Both aspir'd to wear the laurel,
Prize well worthy of a quarrel;
For Art nor Nature could endure
To lose the honor of the cure,
Each seem'd to each to bear a grudge,
Belinda was herself to judge:
She said--"To set the matter right,
"I like the Doctor--my delight

"Was thinking he would soon appear,
"And watching when the hour drew near;
"So, from the pleasure I deriv'd,
"I really think that I surviv'd;
"Thus the Doctor, more than Nature,
"I esteem my preservator."
        Nature reply'd--"Then, it is clear,
"Since you confess the Doctor's dear;
"And nothing truly is more sure,
"That love alone perform'd your cure:
"And can you any way dispute,
"That Nature did not lead you to 't?
"As you please relate the story,
"Full on me redounds the glory."

MORAL.

When Truth is hid, or in disguise,
We give assent to many lies;
The veil remove, and see her face,
You form right judgment on the case.

Original fables by a Lady

Printed by W. Calvert, Shire Lane, Lincoln's Inn, for B. Crosby and Co. London, 1810

To your Royal Highness the following Fables are dedicated, with a wish that in an interval of leisure some transient amusement may be obtained.