"A purge, you mean,"—"I say a clyster,"—
"No, cup him,"—"Leech him,"—"Pills! pills! pills!"
And all the house the uproar fills.
What means that smile? what means that shiver?
The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
And triumph brightens up his face,
His finger yet shall win the race;
The clock is on the stroke of nine,
And up he starts,—"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
"What do you mean?"