A _Doctor_ and _Patient_ with _Sore Eyes_.
A _Physician_ Undertakes a Woman with Sore Eyes, upon the Terms of _No
Cure No Mony_. His Way was to Dawb ’em quite up with Oyntments, and
while she was in that Pickle, to carry off a Spoon or a Porringer, or
Somewhat or Other, at the End of his Visit. The Woman’s Eyes Mended, and
still as she came More and More to her self again, there was Every Day
less and less left in the House to be seen. The _Doctor_ came to her at
last, and told her; Mistress, says he, I have Discharg’d my Part, Your
Eyes are perfectly Well again, and pray let me be Paid now according
to Our Agreement. Alas, Sir, says she, I’m a Great deal Worse then I
was the First Minute you Undertook me; for I could see Plate, Hangings,
Paintings, and Other Goods of Value about my House, ’till You had the
Ordering of me; but I am now brought to such a Pass, that I can see
nothing at all.
The MORAL.
_There are Few Good Offices done for Other People, which the Benefactor
does not hope to be the Better for Himself._