Rack his white head, and fire his feverous pulse;
Till kind Cordelia soothes his soul to rest,
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And folds the parent-monarch to her breast.
Thus some fair spinster grieves in wild affright,
Vexed with dull megrim, or vertigo light;
Pleased round the fair, Three dawdling doctors stand,
Wave the white wig, and stretch the asking hand,
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State the grave doubt, the nauseous draught decree,