'Tis quite the thing to say and sing
Gross libels on the doctor—
To picture him an ogre grim
Or humbug-pill concocter;
Yet it's in quite another light
My friendly pen would show him—
Glad that it might with verse repay
Some part of what I owe him!
When one's all right he's prone to spite
The doctor's peaceful mission;
But, when he's sick, it's loud and quick
He bawls for a physician!
With other things the doctor brings
Sweet babes our hearts to soften;
Though I have four, I pine for more—
Good doctor, pray, come often!
What though he sees death and disease
Run riot all around him,
Patient and true, and valorous, too—
Such have I always found him!
Where'er he goes he soothes our woes,
And, when skill's unavailing
And death is near, his words of cheer
Support our courage failing.
In ancient days they used to praise
The godlike art of healing;
An art that then engaged all men
Possessed of sense and feeling;
Why, Raleigh—he was glad to be
Famed for a quack elixir,
And Digby sold (as we are told)
A charm for folk love-sick, sir!
Napoleon knew a thing or two,
And clearly he was partial
To doctors, for, in time of war,
He chose one for marshal,
In our great cause a doctor was
The first to pass death's portal,
And Warren's name at once became
A beacon and immortal!
A heap, indeed, of what we read
By doctors is provided,
For to those groves Apollo loves
Their leaning is decided;
Deny who may that Rabelais
Is first in wit and learning—
And yet all smile and marvel while
His brilliant leaves they're turning.
How Lever's pen has charmed all men—
How touching Rab's short story!
And I will stake my all that Drake
Is still the schoolboy's glory!
A doctor-man it was began
Great Britain's great museum;
The treasures there are all so rare,
It drives me wild to see 'em!
There's Cuvier, Parr and Rush—they are
Big monuments to learning;
To Mitchell's prose (how smooth it flows!)
We all are fondly turning;
Tomes might be writ of that keen wit
Which Abernethy's famed for—
With bread-crumb pills he cured the ills
Most doctors get blamed for!
In modern times the noble rhymes
Of Holmes (a great physician!)
Have solace brought and wisdom taught
To hearts of all conditions.
The sailor bound for Puget sound
Finds pleasure still unfailing,
If he but troll the barcarole
Old Osborne wrote on Whaling!
If there were need I could proceed
Ad naus, with this prescription,
But, inter nos, a larger dose
Might give you fits conniption;
Yet, ere I end, there's one dear friend
I'd hold before these others,
For he and I in years gone by,
Have chummed around like brothers.
Together we have sung in glee
The songs old Horace made for
Our genial craft—together quaffed
What bowls that doctor paid for!
I love the rest, but love him best,
And, were not times so pressing,
I'd buy and send—you smile, old friend?
Well, then, here goes my blessing. |