 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
HOME CURED.
Long upon her suffering bed she lay,
Ever doctors came and doctors went,
Felt her pulse, prescribed a better way,
Dosed her, bled her, with the best intent—
Drugged her, drenched her, for her numerous ills,
Lavished medicines that they never took,
Gave heroic parliamentary pills,
All the remedies they learnt from book—
Poulticed, blistered, bandaged, picked her up,
Fumigated, tickled, pulled her down,
Stuffed her platter, filled her brimming cup,
Starved her, stript her, robbed of every crown.
Ever doctors came and doctors went,
Felt her pulse, prescribed a better way,
Dosed her, bled her, with the best intent—
Drugged her, drenched her, for her numerous ills,
Lavished medicines that they never took,
Gave heroic parliamentary pills,
All the remedies they learnt from book—
485
Fumigated, tickled, pulled her down,
Stuffed her platter, filled her brimming cup,
Starved her, stript her, robbed of every crown.
Still her miserable bed she kept,
While each novice proved his 'prentice hand
On her wounds, and each reformer wept
Tears of anguish for the wretched land—
Swore they could and would the troubles mend,
Wherewith her afflicted frame was rife,
Big with theories to the bitter end
And at any cost—if it were life;
Bound to show the beauty of their skill
On the helpless body, they were sure
Art at least could elegantly kill,
If it did not happen quite to cure.
While each novice proved his 'prentice hand
On her wounds, and each reformer wept
Tears of anguish for the wretched land—
Swore they could and would the troubles mend,
Wherewith her afflicted frame was rife,
Big with theories to the bitter end
And at any cost—if it were life;
Bound to show the beauty of their skill
On the helpless body, they were sure
Art at least could elegantly kill,
If it did not happen quite to cure.
Strange to say, her sickness never ceased,
Though physicians all their cunning tried,
And as they in numbers yet increased,
Her diseases somehow multiplied;
Till from head to foot with bitter pain
Racked, she shook and groaned in fever sore,
While her piteous cries appealed in vain,
And the burden grew upon her more.
What the matter might be, it was clear
No one knew and no one truly cared;
If they all agreed to charge her dear,
And the gains from her misfortune shared.
Though physicians all their cunning tried,
And as they in numbers yet increased,
Her diseases somehow multiplied;
Till from head to foot with bitter pain
Racked, she shook and groaned in fever sore,
While her piteous cries appealed in vain,
And the burden grew upon her more.
What the matter might be, it was clear
No one knew and no one truly cared;
If they all agreed to charge her dear,
And the gains from her misfortune shared.
Whigs and Tories, Radicals, and those
Who are champions of the wronged and poor,
Plied their trades about her as they chose,
And kept sweetly knocking at her door;
While the patient low and lower sank,
Weak and weaker turned, despoiled of wealth,
As her lovers prospered, ate, and drank
To the prospect of her better health,
Till, at last, the invalid got vext,
At the promises that lied and lured,
Took a preacher with a different text,
Saved her bacon and became Home Cured.
Who are champions of the wronged and poor,
Plied their trades about her as they chose,
And kept sweetly knocking at her door;
While the patient low and lower sank,
Weak and weaker turned, despoiled of wealth,
As her lovers prospered, ate, and drank
To the prospect of her better health,
Till, at last, the invalid got vext,
At the promises that lied and lured,
Took a preacher with a different text,
Saved her bacon and became Home Cured.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |