KILL OR CURE.
[Reports continue to reach us from our brave troops in the field that they "never felt fitter," are "in the best of spirits," and so forth.]
Have you a bronchial cough, or cold,
And is your ailment chronic
Past every sort of cure that's sold?
We'll tell you of a tonic.
Just wing our agents here a wire
And book "A Fortnight Under Teuton Fire."
Do you admit with anxious mind
Your liver's loss of movement,
And that in consequence you find
Your temper needs improvement?
Then leave awhile your stool or bench
And try our "Month Inside a Flooded Trench."
Are you a broken nervous wreck,
Run short of red corpuscles,
Painfully scraggy in the neck,
And much in need of muscles?
Come to us now—for now's your chance—
And take our "Lively Tour Through Northern France."
