Water, air, and cleanness are the chief articles in my pharmacy.

Water, air, and cleanness are the chief articles in my pharmacy.

He (Tiberius) was wont to mock at the arts of physicians, and at
those who, after thirty years of read more

He (Tiberius) was wont to mock at the arts of physicians, and at
those who, after thirty years of age, needed counsel as to what
was good or bad for their bodies.

Though bitter, good medicine cures illness. Though it may hurt,
loyal criticism will have beneficial effects.

Though bitter, good medicine cures illness. Though it may hurt,
loyal criticism will have beneficial effects.

Who worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider
By med'cine life may be read more

Who worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider
By med'cine life may be prolonged, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with read more

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

I have heard that Tiberius used to say that that man was
ridiculous, who after sixth years, appealed to read more

I have heard that Tiberius used to say that that man was
ridiculous, who after sixth years, appealed to a physician.

Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an
art.
[Lat., Aegri quia non omnes read more

Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an
art.
[Lat., Aegri quia non omnes convalescunt, idcirco ars nulla
medicina est.]

One doctor, singly like the sculler plies,
The patient struggles, and by inches dies;
But two physicians, read more

One doctor, singly like the sculler plies,
The patient struggles, and by inches dies;
But two physicians, like a pair of oars,
Waft him right swiftly to the Stygian shores.

But, when the wit began to wheeze,
And wine had warm'd the politician,
Cur'd yesterday of my read more

But, when the wit began to wheeze,
And wine had warm'd the politician,
Cur'd yesterday of my disease,
I died last night of my physician.