Laokoon: Oder, Über die Grenzen der Malerei und Poesie

by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

Franville.
Here comes the surgeon. What
Hast thou discover'd? Smile, smile and comfort us.

Surgeon.
I am expiring,
Smile they that can. I can find nothing, gentlemen,
Here 's nothing can be meat, without a miracle
Oh that I had my boxes and my lints now,
My stupes, my tents, and those sweet helps of nature,
What dainty dishes could I make of 'em.

Morillat.
Hast ne'er an old suppository?

Surgeon.
Oh would I had, sir.

Lamure.
Or but the paper where such a cordial
Potion, or pills hath been entomb'd?

Franville.
Or the best bladder where a cooling-glister.

Morillat.
Hast thou no searcloths left?
Nor any old pultesses?

Franville.
We care not to what it hath been ministred.

Surgeon.
Sure I have none of these dainties, gentlemen.

Franville.
Where's the great wen
Thou cut'st from Hugh the sailor's shoulder?
That would serve now for a most princely banquet.