NO. 1. COD LIVER OIL.
ON the bleak shore of Norway, I 've lately been told,
Large numbers of cod-fish are found,
And the animals' livers are afterwards sold
At so many "pfennigs" per pound;
From which is extracted, with infinite toil,
A villainous fluid called cod-liver oil!
Now, I don't mind a powder, a pill, or a draught—
Though I mingle the former with jam—
And many's the mixture I've cheerfully quaff'd,
And the pill I have gulp'd like a lamb.
But then I envelop my pills in tin-foil,
And I can't do the same with my cod-liver oil!
In the course of my lifetime I 've swallow'd enough
To have floated a ship of the line,
And it 's purely the fault of this horrible stuff
That I've ceased to enjoy ginger wine.
For how can you wonder to see me recoil
From a liquor I mix'd with my cod-liver oil?
There are few deeds of daring from which I should quail—
There are few things I'd tremble to do—
But there's one kind of tonic that makes me turn pale,
And quite spoils my appetite, too;
But, you see, just at present, I Ve got none to spoil—
So I don't mind alluding to cod-liver oil!