Bark to the Bow-wows,” hated physic so,
It seem’d to share “the bitterness of death”:
Rhubarb, magnesia, jalap, and the kind,
Senna, steel, asafœtida, and squills,
Powder or draught; but least her throat inclined
To give a course to boluses or pills.
No, not to save her life, in lung or lobe,
For all her lights’ or liver’s sake,
Would her convulsive thorax undertake
Only one little uncelestial globe!