“COLD ID BY DOZE.”
I’ve got such a hoddible cold id by head,
Upod by word, I wish I was dead;
I really thig I shall go to bed,
Ad tallow by doze, as the Doctor said;
He’s cubig agaid this afterdood;
Why, it’s half-past three, he’ll be here sood,
Ad gib me sub bore of his beastly drugs,
Ad tell me to keep warb udder the rugs.
Achoo! Achoo!
Oh! what shall I do?
I’ve coughed ad sdeezed till I’be dearly blue,
Ad by doze is so sore,
I card blow it bore,
It feels as tedder as if it was raw;
Subbody told be he’d heard of sub stuff
Which you’d odely to sdiff, ad that was eduff;
What did he call it? Alkarab,
I’ll sedd for sub—I suppose it’s a shab—
They always are. Achoo! Achoo!
I thig I’be dyig! Oh! what shall I do?
Yes, this is the stuff that fellow said
Was sure to cure a cold id the head;
Two or three sdiffs the beggar swore
Would bake you as well as you were before.
(He sniffs.) Upod my soul, I believe he’s right,
I’be gettig better—it’s wonderful quite,
I albost feel as if I bight
Go out and dide at the Club to-dight.
(He continueth sniffing.)
I really will, I feel quite well,
As fresh as a rose, and as sound as a bell,
And I’ll always swear that the only balm
For a cold in the head is Alkaram.
“Here, John, put out my evening clothes.”
I’ll take my grub
To-night at the Club.
Soup, fish, and a bird, with a pint of Larose,
I think that ought to complete the cure,
And make assurance double sure.
Achoo! Hullo!
Why here’s a go!
Achoo! Atishoo! Oh dear! Oh dear!
It’s all begiddig agaid, I fear;
You card get rid of a cold like bide
By sbellig a bottle of bedicide!
Soup ad fish! it’s absurd,
Or to thigk of a bird,
When you card prodoudce a siggle word,
Ad as for Larose, the tipple for be
Is a cup of boilig lidseed tea.
I’ll go to bed,
Ad wrap a red
Welsh fladdel baddage roud by head,
Ad stay at hobe for a budth at least,
Till this beastly widd’s do logger East.
South Kedsigtod.