The patient and the ill.

If there were dreams to sell,       What would you buy? Some cost a passing bell;       Some a light sigh, That shakes from Life's fresh crown Only a rose-leaf down. If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell,       And the crier rang the bell,       What would you buy?

A cottage lone and still,       With bowers nigh, Shadowy, my woes to still,       Until I die. Such pearl from Life's fresh crown Fain would I shake me down. Were dreams to have at will, This best would heal my ill,       This would I buy.

The seed of Mustard is the smallest grain, And yet the force thereto is very great, It hath a present power to purge the brain, It adds unto the stomach force and heat: All poison it expels, and it is plain, With sugar 'tis a passing sauce for meat. She that hath hap a husband bad to bury, And is therefore in heart not sad, but merry, Yet if in show good manners she will keep, Onions and Mustard-seed will make her weep.

The Englishmans Doctor.       Or, The School of Salerne,       Or, Physical observations for the perfect Preserving of the body of Man in continual health

Sir John Harington, 1608

""To a close shorn sheep, God gives wind by measure."" (George Herbert)