Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Dose
The Dose.
Mistakes are common all through life,
A man Miss takes, and she becomes his wife;
In this perhaps they're both mistaken,
So never claim the flitch of bacon:
But such mistakes I'll let alone,
And now begin in serious tone.
A man Miss takes, and she becomes his wife;
In this perhaps they're both mistaken,
So never claim the flitch of bacon:
But such mistakes I'll let alone,
And now begin in serious tone.
An officer in quarters lay
At Dublin—that you'll say,
Is nothing very strange or sad:
True—but he was taken very bad.
And though there's nothing new in that,
Yet the prescription that he took to cure
His malady, I'm sure,
Was new, was wonderful, was strange!
And you may range
The pharmacopœia o'er and o'er,
You'll not find anything that's pat,
Though you should all your lifetime pore.
At Dublin—that you'll say,
Is nothing very strange or sad:
True—but he was taken very bad.
And though there's nothing new in that,
Yet the prescription that he took to cure
His malady, I'm sure,
Was new, was wonderful, was strange!
And you may range
The pharmacopœia o'er and o'er,
You'll not find anything that's pat,
Though you should all your lifetime pore.
His case was fever, raging, burning,
He took to his bed,
With fiery eyes and aching head,
And tossed as if on glowing cinders turning.
The doctor came—('twas very needful),
And he displayed his skill most heedful;
He wrote for pills and draughts to drive
The devil out—dead or alive;
And as the gentleman might still be worse,
He ordered, too
(Quite right, you know),
A steady, careful, good old nurse;
And quickly to the patient came,
As recommended, the old dame:
She curtsied, looked him in the face,
Shook her grey locks, and much deplored his case!
"Och, honey! you are very ill,
But never mind,
We soon shall find,
All your complaint
By the good Saint
Patrick and the doctor's skill."
He took to his bed,
With fiery eyes and aching head,
And tossed as if on glowing cinders turning.
The doctor came—('twas very needful),
And he displayed his skill most heedful;
He wrote for pills and draughts to drive
The devil out—dead or alive;
And as the gentleman might still be worse,
He ordered, too
(Quite right, you know),
A steady, careful, good old nurse;
And quickly to the patient came,
As recommended, the old dame:
She curtsied, looked him in the face,
Shook her grey locks, and much deplored his case!
"Och, honey! you are very ill,
But never mind,
We soon shall find,
All your complaint
By the good Saint
Patrick and the doctor's skill."
After this wise remark, I need not say,
You must not wonder
Should you commit a blunder
In the Irish way.
I prithee, gents, make no objection!
I do not mean the least reflection.
You'll recollect this is a case quite serious,
The patient lay in bed almost delirious,
The fever raging in his veins:
When soon arrived a draught to do him good,
And pills to quell the boiling of his blood,
And ease him of his pains.
You must not wonder
Should you commit a blunder
In the Irish way.
I prithee, gents, make no objection!
I do not mean the least reflection.
You'll recollect this is a case quite serious,
The patient lay in bed almost delirious,
The fever raging in his veins:
When soon arrived a draught to do him good,
And pills to quell the boiling of his blood,
And ease him of his pains.
Nurse poured the draught into a cup,
And soon the sick man drank it up;
The box of pills with care she placed
Where various things the mantel graced,
Because two hours must pass away
To let the potion have fair play.
That time elapsed, nurse made all speed,
The patient with the pills to feed;
She opened the box and gave him two,
He gulped them down without ado;
Two more, and then two more must follow,
These rather stuck within his swallow.
"Good nurse, some drink."—He drank, and then
Boldly attacked the pills again.
Two more went down, and then two more,
Which made the number half a score.
"More drink—so many is provoking—
My throat is full—I'm almost choking."
"Arrah, my jewel, let me tell
You, these will shortly make you well,
Whether you will or not—be easy
And make a dozen up, an't please ye."
And soon the sick man drank it up;
The box of pills with care she placed
Where various things the mantel graced,
Because two hours must pass away
To let the potion have fair play.
That time elapsed, nurse made all speed,
The patient with the pills to feed;
She opened the box and gave him two,
He gulped them down without ado;
Two more, and then two more must follow,
These rather stuck within his swallow.
"Good nurse, some drink."—He drank, and then
Boldly attacked the pills again.
Two more went down, and then two more,
Which made the number half a score.
"More drink—so many is provoking—
My throat is full—I'm almost choking."
"Arrah, my jewel, let me tell
You, these will shortly make you well,
Whether you will or not—be easy
And make a dozen up, an't please ye."
Two more he took.—"I prithee say,
Good nurse, how many there remains?"
"Two, four, five, seven, nine, ten, twelve—aye,
By Shelah, good St. Patrick's cousin,
The box contains
Exact another dozen!"
"A dozen more!" the sick man cries
(Trembling with fever and surprise),
"I thought apothecaries vended
By retail, till the patient mended;
But this! by Esculapius good,
By all that ever medicine understood,
This sells the poison wholesale!"
Good nurse, how many there remains?"
"Two, four, five, seven, nine, ten, twelve—aye,
By Shelah, good St. Patrick's cousin,
The box contains
Exact another dozen!"
"A dozen more!" the sick man cries
(Trembling with fever and surprise),
"I thought apothecaries vended
By retail, till the patient mended;
But this! by Esculapius good,
By all that ever medicine understood,
This sells the poison wholesale!"
This boisterous gale
Of angry passion o'er,
She coaxed him to get down two more,
And thus at length he swallowed twenty-four!
Worn with fatigue some time he lay,
To pain and angry thoughts a prey;
But soon his agony increased,
For lo! the pills lay undigested:
Hard at his stomach, there they rested,
And filled with dreadful pains his breast.
Of angry passion o'er,
She coaxed him to get down two more,
And thus at length he swallowed twenty-four!
Worn with fatigue some time he lay,
To pain and angry thoughts a prey;
But soon his agony increased,
For lo! the pills lay undigested:
Hard at his stomach, there they rested,
And filled with dreadful pains his breast.
The doctor must be called—he came,
Inquired each symptom,—shrugged his shoulders,
He, apprehensive for his fame,
And for the patient one or two beholders—
"Did you administer the draught?""Oh, yes."
"The pills?""'Tis they have caused all this,"
Exclaims the officer—"Did you suppose
I was a horse, that you sent such a dose?
I've four-and-twenty bullets lying
In my stomach, and I'm dying."
"Bullets!" repeats the doctor with surprise,
"Sir, I'm a man of peace, and either pill
I sent, was meant to cure—not kill.
Besides, I sent hut two," he straight replies.—
"I've swallowed twenty-four!" the sick man cries.
Inquired each symptom,—shrugged his shoulders,
He, apprehensive for his fame,
And for the patient one or two beholders—
"Did you administer the draught?""Oh, yes."
"The pills?""'Tis they have caused all this,"
Exclaims the officer—"Did you suppose
I was a horse, that you sent such a dose?
I've four-and-twenty bullets lying
In my stomach, and I'm dying."
"Bullets!" repeats the doctor with surprise,
"Sir, I'm a man of peace, and either pill
I sent, was meant to cure—not kill.
Besides, I sent hut two," he straight replies.—
"I've swallowed twenty-four!" the sick man cries.
A squinting servant of the house stood by,
And towards the shelf she cast an eye;
She opened the doctor's box, and there
The pills both snug and safe appear.
Another box upon the shelf remained
Empty. "Why, nurse!" she squalls,
And at the doctor like a fury bawls,
"This box, now empty, once contained
What the poor gentleman has taken;
Were he an ostrich, or the prince of gluttons,
You'd scarcely save his bacon,
For, by heaven!
You have given
Him two dozen round shirt buttons!'
And towards the shelf she cast an eye;
She opened the doctor's box, and there
The pills both snug and safe appear.
Another box upon the shelf remained
Empty. "Why, nurse!" she squalls,
And at the doctor like a fury bawls,
"This box, now empty, once contained
What the poor gentleman has taken;
Were he an ostrich, or the prince of gluttons,
You'd scarcely save his bacon,
For, by heaven!
You have given
Him two dozen round shirt buttons!'