The DEVIL upon DUN: OR The Downfall of the Upstart CHEMIST:  
Being the Second Edition of a Late SONG:  
To the Tune of Smoke us, and choke us.  
 

‛ MOngst all Professions in the Town,  
Held most in renown,  
From th' Sword to the Gown,  
The upstart Chemist rules the Roast;  
For He with his Pill  
Does even what he will,  
Employing his skill,  
Good Subjects to kill,  
That he of his dangerous Art may boast,  
O 'tis the Chemist, that man of the fire,  
Who by his Black Art  
Does Soul and Body part:  
He smokes us, and choaksus,  
And leaves us like  in the mire.   

And first for the Lawyers, who multiply,  
That one can scarce lie,  
And th' other stand by,  
Five Grains took of th' grand Preparation,  
Their Bodies will maul,  
Thin Westminster-Hall,  
Cease Suits, and give a long Vacation.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

At th' Session's house he commenced his Trade,  
Where he aloud prayed  
For th' King, long he stayed  
Not there, being burnt in th' hand  
To inure him to fire,  
He proceeded then high,  
Restless in desire,  
Till he of a Chemist had the Brand.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

As for the Parsons, both Pro and Con,  
Dispute, and Objection,  
Can't save them, th' Chemist anon  
With th' Elixir can soon end the strife,  
Strait silence them both,  
Who t' agree are loath,  
For th' Ginny-pigs sake, though  
Their quarrels give th' Old Cause new life.   

Also the Soldier, that man of Arms,  
Who never fears harms,  
Nor any fresh alarms,  
Let this Chemist enter the Field  
Even with a General,  
The bravest Colonel,  
A Pill, or Sublimate will make them yield.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

Dull Aristotle was an old Fool,  
For he went to School  
Instead of the Stool:  
What he wrote, he stole from Books;  
This mystery is such,  
Say who can too much  
In it? whose deadly touch,  
Makes Bum-foder scarce, it who twice brooks?  
O 'tis the Chemist, that man of the fire,  
Who by his Black Art  
Does Soul and Body part:  
He smokes us, and chokes us,  
And leaves us like  in the mire.   

The learned Universities,  
Ancient as Mince-pies,  
Say that all are lies,  
But Emperick-like he'll make them broil  
Like Sprats on the coal,  
Leaving them no soul,  
But make a deep hole  
To bury their old heathenish soil.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

Old Physicians never writ  
Aught of real wit,  
But what was most fit  
To be refined by th' Chemical Art;  
Rhubarb, Senna, and Drugs  
Even like to College Mugs,  
Which the Sophister oft lugs,  
Nothing comes, but a Metaphysical F—  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

'Gainst Hypocrates and Galen eke,  
These Saints have a peke,  
'Cause they wrote in Greek;  
With Learning they'll not trouble the Brain,  
The Mother-tongue alone  
Kills dead as a stone;  
This done with th' fifteenth part of a Grain.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

The College Doctors with great heat,  
Do very much browbeat  
So  a cheat,  
Using proved methods safe to cure;  
Yet these Chemist's cry,  
Who dares it deny?  
At easy rates they'll make all sure.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

If Wife of Husband, or Husband of Wife,  
By reason of strife  
Are we'ry, Or Father's life  
Hinders th' Heir; his Laboratory  
Can perform with haste,  
Without much distaste,  
What Indian poison can't supply.  
O 'tis the Chemist, that man of the fire,  
Who by his Black Art  
Does Soul and Body part:  
He smokes us, and chokes us,  
And leaves us like  in the mire.   

The learned Chemists we don't decry,  
Nature's Mystery  
He most faithfully  
Unlocks: But our upstart Chemists be  
A mere mushroom strain  
Who give Folks their bain  
Very Quacks in grain,  
They, and the Sextons are in Fee.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

How say ye Sirs, shall these practise then,  
Very expert men  
T' kill, Dick, Tom, and Ben?  
Nay, rather let this Chemical Crew,  
Be sent to Algiers,  
That Trade may be free'r:  
They'll outdo a Navy, give the Devil his due:  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

Then may New Troy with Citizens fill,  
Being secured from ill;  
Than not printed Bill,  
No Almanac; no Tradesman's Shop  
Shall th' Elixir vent,  
To make Experiment  
On liege people, killing with one drop.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.   

Now to conclude, let's merrily sing  
God bless Our Good KING  
From the Dragon's Sting,  
Heavens preserve him Ages about:  
For none of his Foes  
The Common-weal oppose,  
As every one knows,  
By their great hurt, and woes,  
Than th' Quack and this Chemical Ront.  
O 'tis the Chemist, etc.    

LONDON, Printed for: Nathaniel Brook at the Angel in Cornhill near the Royal-Exchange, 1672.