'Tis not amiss, ere ye're giv'n o'er, To try one desp'rate med'cine more; For where your case can be no worse, The desp'rat'st is the wisest course.

Learn'd he was in medic'nal lore, For by his side a pouch he wore, Replete with strange hermetic powder That wounds nine miles point-blank would solder.

Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat; Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate.

For now the field is not far off Where we must give the world a proof Of deeds, not words.

He was in Logic, a great critic, Profoundly skill'd in Analytic; He could distinguish, and divide A hair 'twixt south and south-west side.

The worst of rebels never arm To do their king or country harm, But draw their swords to do them good, As doctors cure by letting blood.