Begone, Dulcamara,
Thou and I will never agree!
Agree? By all good powers, no! no more than oil and water!
For to the conscious humbug honest wrath should give no quarter;
And if Punch's ready bâton lays its thwacks on any backs
With special zest, it is on those of charlatans and quacks.
Quack! Quack! Quack! Oh the pestilential pack!
If there is a loathsome chorus, it is Quack! Quack! Quack!
But the Quacks are having high old times in these peculiar days,
And gulls mistake their horrid din, 'twould seem, for pleasant lays.