Vertigo—Apoplexy—Spleen,
The feverish hand—the visage green,
The lengthen’d lanthorn jaws.
This, a consommé, precious prize!
Is tempted now to try;
To restless nights a [sacrifice],
And dire acidity.
Till throbs of heart-burn—ague’s pangs,
And Cholera’s fiercely fixing fangs,
Have left him, liverless, to moan,