Medical Poems | Page 5

Vin.
Colch., Pil. Cochiae, and Black Drop,
Tinctures of Opium, Gentian,
Henbane, Hop,
Pulv. Ipecacuanhae, which for lack
Of breath to
utter men call Ipecac,
Camphor and Kino, Turpentine, Tolu,

Cubebs, "Copeevy," Vitriol,--white and blue,--
Fennel and Flaxseed,
Slippery Elm and Squill,
And roots of Sassafras, and "Sassaf'rill,"

Brandy,--for colics,--Pinkroot, death on worms,--
Valerian, calmer of
hysteric squirms,
Musk, Assafoetida, the resinous gum
Named from
its odor,--well, it does smell some,--
Jalap, that works not wisely, but
too well,
Ten pounds of Bark and six of Calomel.
For outward griefs he had an ample store,
Some twenty jars and
gallipots, or more:
/Ceratum simplex/--housewives oft compile
The
same at home, and call it "wax and ile;"
/Unguentum
resinosum/--change its name,
The "drawing salve" of many an
ancient dame;
/Argenti Nitras/, also Spanish flies,
Whose virtue
makes the water-bladders rise--
(Some say that spread upon a toper's
skin
They draw no water, only rum or gin);
Leeches, sweet vermin!
don't they charm the sick?
And Sticking-plaster--how it hates to stick

/Emplastrum Ferri/--ditto /Picis/, Pitch;
Washes and Powders,
Brimstone for the--which,
/Scabies/ or /Psora/, is thy chosen name

Since Hahnemann's goose-quill scratched thee into fame,
Proved thee
the source of every nameless ill,
Whose sole specific is a moonshine
pill,
Till saucy Science, with a quiet grin,
Held up the Acarus,
crawling on a pin?
--Mountains have labored and have brought forth
mice
The Dutchman's theory hatched a brood of--twice

I've
well-nigh said them--words unfitting quite
For these fair precincts
and for ears polite.
The surest foot may chance at last to slip,
And so at length it proved
with Doctor Rip.
One full-sized bottle stood upon the shelf,
Which

held the medicine that he took himself;
Whate'er the reason, it must
be confessed
He filled that bottle oftener than the rest;
What drug it
held I don't presume to know--
The gilded label said "Elixir Pro."
One day the Doctor found the bottle full,
And, being thirsty, took a
vigorous pull,
Put back the "Elixir" where 't was always found,
And
had old Dobbin saddled and brought round.
--You know those
old-time rhubarb-colored nags
That carried Doctors and their
saddle-bags;
Sagacious beasts! they stopped at every place
Where
blinds were shut--knew every patient's case--
Looked up and
thought--The baby's in a fit--
That won't last long--he'll soon be
through with it;
But shook their heads before the knockered door

Where some old lady told the story o'er
Whose endless stream of
tribulation flows
For gastric griefs and peristaltic woes.
What jack-o'-lantern led him from his way,
And where it led him, it
were hard to say;
Enough that wandering many a weary mile

Through paths the mountain sheep trod single file,
O'ercome by
feelings such as patients know
Who dose too freely with "Elixir
Pro.,"
He tumbl--dismounted, slightly in a heap,
And lay,
promiscuous, lapped in balmy sleep.
Night followed night, and day succeeded day,
But snoring still the
slumbering Doctor lay.
Poor Dobbin, starving, thought upon his stall,

And straggled homeward, saddle-bags and all.
The village people
hunted all around,
But Rip was missing,--never could be found.

"Drownded," they guessed;--for more than half a year
The pouts and
eels did taste uncommon queer;
Some said of apple-brandy--other
some
Found a strong flavor of New England rum.
Why can't a fellow hear the fine things said
About a fellow when a
fellow's dead?
The best of doctors--so the press declared--
A public
blessing while his life was spared,
True to his country, bounteous to
the poor,

In all things temperate, sober, just, and pure;
The best of

husbands! echoed Mrs. Van,
And set her cap to catch another man.
So ends this Canto--if it's quantum suff.,
We'll just stop here and say
we've had enough,
And leave poor Rip to sleep for thirty years;
I
grind the organ--if you lend your ears
To hear my second Canto, after
that
We 'll send around the monkey with the hat.
CANTO SECOND
So thirty years had passed--but not a word
In all that time of Rip was
ever heard;
The world wagged on--it never does go back--
The
widow Van was now the widow Mac----
France was an
Empire--Andrew J. was dead,
And Abraham L. was reigning in his
stead.
Four murderous years had passed in savage strife,
Yet still
the rebel held his bloody knife.
--At last one morning--who forgets the day
When the black cloud of
war dissolved away
The joyous tidings spread o'er land and sea,

Rebellion done for! Grant has captured Lee!
Up every flagstaff
sprang the Stars and Stripes--
Out rushed the Extras wild with
mammoth types--
Down went the laborer's hod, the school-boy's
book--
"Hooraw!" he cried, "the rebel army's took!"
Ah! what a
time! the folks all mad with joy
Each fond, pale mother thinking of
her boy;
Old gray-haired fathers meeting--"Have--you--heard?"

And then a choke--and not another word;
Sisters all smiling--maidens,
not less dear,
In trembling poise between a smile and tear;
Poor
Bridget thinking how she 'll stuff the plums
In that big cake for
Johnny when he comes;
Cripples afoot; rheumatics on the jump;

Old girls so loving they could hug the pump;
Guns going bang! from
every fort and ship;
They banged so loud at last they wakened Rip.
I spare the picture, how a man appears
Who's been asleep a score or
two of years;
You all have seen it to perfection done
By Joe Van
Wink--I mean Rip Jefferson.
Well, so it was; old Rip at