You're not in-fal'be'-le, Doctor dear—
Excuse the painful pun,
Though you merit treatment e'en more severe
For all the ill you've done.
You held a nasty cloud of doubt
Above our sunlit sky,
And now at length we've found you out,
Our summer is near gone by.
Yes, a summer indeed we've had this year,
In spite of your doleful croak,