Medical Poems | Page 6

last came

back,
Claimed his old wife--the present widow Mac----
Had his old
sign regilded, and began
To practise physic on the same old plan.

Some weeks went by--it was not long to wait--
And "please to call"
grew frequent on the slate.
He had, in fact, an ancient, mildewed air,

A long gray beard, a plenteous lack of hair,--
The musty look that
always recommends
Your good old Doctor to his ailing friends.

--Talk of your science! after all is said
There's nothing like a bare and
shiny head;
Age lends the graces that are sure to please;
Folks want
their Doctors mouldy, like their cheese.
So Rip began to look at people's tongues
And thump their briskets
(called it "sound their lungs"),
Brushed up his knowledge smartly as
he could,
Read in old Cullen and in Doctor Good.
The town was
healthy; for a month or two
He gave the sexton little work to do.
About the time when dog-day heats begin,
The summer's usual
maladies set in;
With autumn evenings dysentery came,
And dusky
typhoid lit his smouldering flame;
The blacksmith ailed, the carpenter
was down,
And half the children sickened in the town.
The sexton's
face grew shorter than before--
The sexton's wife a brand-new bonnet
wore--
Things looked quite serious--Death had got a grip
On old
and young, in spite of Doctor Rip.
And now the Squire was taken with a chill--
Wife gave
"hot-drops"--at night an Indian pill;
Next morning, feverish--bedtime,
getting worse--
Out of his head--began to rave and curse;
The
Doctor sent for--double quick he came
/Ant. Tart. gran. duo/, and
repeat the same
If no et cetera. Third day--nothing new;
Percussed
his thorax till 't was black and blue--
Lung-fever
threatening--something of the sort--
Out with the lancet--let him
bleed--a quart--
Ten leeches next--then blisters to his side;
Ten
grains of calomel; just then he died.
The Deacon next required the Doctor's care--
Took cold by sitting in

a draught of air--
Pains in the back, but what the matter is
Not quite
so clear,--wife calls it "rheumatiz."
Rubs back with flannel--gives
him something hot--
"Ah!" says the Deacon, "that goes nigh the
spot."
Next day a rigor--"Run, my little man,
And say the Deacon
sends for Doctor Van."
The Doctor came--percussion as before,

Thumping and banging till his ribs were sore--
"Right side the
flattest"--then more vigorous raps--
"Fever--that's certain--pleurisy,
perhaps.
A quart of blood will ease the pain, no doubt,
Ten leeches
next will help to suck it out,
Then clap a blister on the painful part--

But first two grains of /Antimonium Tart/.
Last with a dose of
cleansing calomel
Unload the portal system--(that sounds well!)"
But when the selfsame remedies were tried,
As all the village knew,
the Squire had died;
The neighbors hinted. "This will never do;
He's killed the
Squire--he'll kill the Deacon too."
Now when a doctor's patients are perplexed,
A consultation comes in
order next--
You know what that is? In a certain place
Meet certain
doctors to discuss a case
And other matters, such as weather, crops,

Potatoes, pumpkins, lager-beer, and hops.
For what's the use?--there
's little to be said,
Nine times in ten your man's as good as dead;
At
best a talk (the secret to disclose)
Where three men guess and
sometimes one man knows.
The counsel summoned came without delay--
Young Doctor Green
and shrewd old Doctor Gray--
They heard the story--"Bleed!" says
Doctor Green,
"That's downright murder! cut his throat, you mean

Leeches! the reptiles! Why, for pity's sake,
Not try an adder or a
rattlesnake?
Blisters! Why bless you, they 're against the law--
It's
rank assault and battery if they draw
Tartrate of Antimony! shade of
Luke,
Stomachs turn pale at thought of such rebuke!
The portal
system! What's the man about?

Unload your nonsense! Calomel's

played out!
You've been asleep--you'd better sleep away
Till some
one calls you."
"Stop!" says Doctor Gray--
"The story is you slept for thirty years;

With brother Green, I own that it appears
You must have slumbered
most amazing sound;
But sleep once more till thirty years come
round,
You'll find the lancet in its honored place,
Leeches and
blisters rescued from disgrace,
Your drugs redeemed from fashion's
passing scorn,
And counted safe to give to babes unborn."
Poor sleepy Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.,
A puzzled, serious, saddened
man was he;
Home from the Deacon's house he plodded slow
And
filled one bumper of "Elixir Pro."
"Good-by," he faltered, "Mrs. Van,
my dear!
I'm going to sleep, but wake me once a year;
I don't like
bleaching in the frost and dew,
I'll take the barn, if all the same to you.

Just once a year--remember! no mistake!
Cry, 'Rip Van Winkle!
time for you to wake!'
Watch for the week in May when laylocks
blow,
For then the Doctors meet, and I must go."
Just once a year the Doctor's worthy dame
Goes to the barn and
shouts her husband's name;
"Come, Rip Van Winkle!" (giving him a
shake)
"Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!
Laylocks in
blossom! 't is the month of May--
The Doctors' meeting is this
blessed day,
And come what will, you know I heard you swear

You'd never miss it, but be always there!"
And so it is, as every year comes round
Old Rip Van Winkle here is
always found.
You'll quickly know him by his