RABELAIS.

A JEU D'ESPRIT.

In France they say

Lived RABELAIS,

A witty wight, and a right merry fellow.

Who in good company was sometimes mellow:

And,

Although he was a priest,

Thought it no sacramental sin—to feast.

I can't say much for his morality:

But for his immortality,

Good luck!

Why he's bound in calf, and squeezed in boards,

And scarcely a good library's shelf

But boasts acquaintance with the elf.

But now I'll tell you what I should have told before,

A grievous illness brought him nigh Death's door.

Who, bony wight,

Enjoyed the sight—

And grinn'd as he thought of the fun there'd be

When the jester had joined his company.

Rab's friends, good folk!

Thought it no joke

To the poor joker; they therefore sent around

For all the Esculapians to be found;

And in a trice

(For doctors always haste to give advice—

Mind—don't mistake—I mean when there's a fee)

They mustered two—to which add three.

Now about the bed

Is seen each learned head.

The patient's pulse is felt—with graver air

Each M.D. seats him in a chair.

Crosses his legs—leans on his stick, mums—hahs—and hums

Pulls out his watch—takes snuff—and twirls his thumbs.

At length,

The awful stillness broke—

As if from silence gathering strength

Most lustily they all did croak,

Their opinions mingling,

In discordant jingling—

"A purge"—"a blister"—"shave his head"

"Senna and salts"—"a clyster"—"have him bled,"

"A pill at noon"—"another pill at night,"

"A warm-bath, sure, would set him right."

Thus with purges and blisters,

Pills, bleeding, and clysters,

The poor patient they threatened

Should be deluged and sweatened.

Unable to endure the riot,

And wishing for a little quiet,

The sickman raised his head,

And said—

Gentlemen, I do beseech ye, cease your pother,

Nor any more with me your wise heads bother,

Scratching your wigs,

Like sapient pigs;

Whate'er you may decide is my disease,

I humbly do conceive a little ease

From your infernal noise and chatter.

With which I'm dunn'd

And nearly stunn'd,

Would greatly tend to mend the matter;

And if, perforce, I must resign my breath,

For heav'n's sake let me die a NATURAL death.

P.M.