A Book About Doctors

by John Cordy Jeaffreson

Come next, Colossus Jackson, O,
Come next, Colossus Jackson, O;
As jack-ass mute,
A burthen brute,
Just fit to trot with packs on, O.

Come next, sweet Paddy Rooney, O,
Come next, sweet Paddy Rooney, O;
Tho' if you stay
Till judgment's day,
You'll come a month too soon-y, O.

Come next, sweet Breeny Creepmouse, O,
Come next, sweet Breeny Creepmouse, O;
Thee heaven gave
Just sense to shave
A corpse, or an asleep mouse, O.

For I say, creep-mouse Breeny, O,
For I say, creep-mouse Breeny, O;
Thee I can't sing
The fairy's king,
But I'll sing you their Queen-y O;

For I say, Dr Breeny, O,
For I say, Dr Breeny, O;
If I for once
Called you a dunce,
I'd shew a judgment weeny, O.

Come, Richards dull and brazen, O,
Come, Richards dull and brazen, O;
A prosperous drone,
You stand alone,
For wondering sense to gaze on, O.

Then come, you greasy blockhead, O,
Then come, you greasy blockhead, O;
Balked by your face,
We quickly trace,
Your genius to your pocket, O.

Come, Crampton, man of capers, O,
Come, Crampton, man of capers, O;
. . . . .

And come, long Doctor Renney, O,
And come, long Doctor Renney, O;
If sick I'd fee
As soon as thee,
Old Arabella Denny, O.

Come, Tandragee Ferguson, O,
Come, Tandragee Ferguson, O;
Fool, don't recoil,
But as your foil
Bring Ireland or Puke Hewson, O.