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And come, ye hosts that hold brevets
From Hosack’s college of physicians.

And thou, botanic Hosack, bring
Thy poppy-breathing lips along;
Thy name in steeple-bells shall ring,
Thou monarch of the motley throng.
Yet Mitchill may the votes estrange,
Or Doctor Clinton, to confound ye,
Again produce some queer melange
Of scientific Salmagundi.

Clinton! the name my fancy fires,
I see him, with a sage’s look,
Exhausting Nature, and whole quires
Of foolscap, in his wondrous book.
Columbia’s genius hovers o’er him,
Fair Science, smiling, lingers near,
Encyclopædias lie before him,
And Mitchill whispers in his ear.

Enough! the swelling wave has borne
Upon its bosom chiefs and kings—
From Mitchill, Clinton, Hosack, Home,
One cannot stoop to meaner things.
Yet once again we’ll raise the song,
And passing forums, banks, and brokers,
Join with the bubble-blowing throng,
Seize Quackery’s pipe, and puff the Croakers.

D.