It's stuff you must, of course, have seen,
Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots,
In cakes or little pills, I mean—
(Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots,
That I am really much to blame
For not remembering the name!)
Still, let me recommend a keg
(With maker's name, be sure, above it),
'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg,
And village idiots simply love it;
Old persons sit and scream for it,—
I do so hope you'll try a bit!
So efficacious is this stuff,
Its virtue and its strength are such,
One single bottle is enough,—
In fact, at times, 'tis far too much.
(The patient dies in frightful pain,
Or else survives, and tries again.)
An aunt of mine felt anyhow,
All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits,
Had freckles badly too; but now
She doesn't have a thing but fits.
She's just as strong as any horse,—
Tho' still an invalid, of course.
I had an uncle, too, that way,
His health was in a dreadful plight;
Would often spend a sleepless day,
And lie unconscious half the night.
He took two bottles, large and small,
And now—he has no health at all!
The Moral plainly bids you buy
This stuff, whose name I have forgotten;
You won't regret it, if you try—
(My memory is simply rotten!)
My funds will profit, in addition,
Since I enjoy a small commission!
CHILDISH COMPLAINTS
No. 1 (Appendicitis)
I've got Appendicitis
In my Appendicit,
But I don't mind,
Because I find
I'm quite 'cut out' for it.