“I’ve learned to succor all the down and out;”

Straightway she had them all tucked into bed,

And caused her heralds in the street to shout:

“Queen Dido seeks a sovereign cure for chills,

Bring mustard plasters, poultices and pills;

The victor she’ll reward and make his name

A synonym for fortune and for fame.”

As always, when incentive is supplied,

Some pharmacist got busy on the spot,

Made little pills with quinine stuffed inside;