Prelude

I have no knowledge of disease,No notion what ill-health may be,Since Housemaid's Throat and Smoker's KneesMean something different to meTo what they do to other folk.(This is, I vow, no vulgar joke.)

Of course, when young, I had complaints,And little childish accidents;For twice I ate a box of paints,And once I swallowed eighteen pence.(N.B., I missed the paints a lot,But got the coins back on the spot.)

But no practitioner has seenMy tongue since then, down to the present,And I, alas! have never beenAn interesting convalescent.Ah! why am I alone deniedThe Humour of a weak inside?

Why is it? I will tell you why;A certain mixture is to blame.One day for fun I chanced to tryA bottle of--what is the name?That thing they advertise a lot,--(Oh, what a memory I've got!)

It's stuff you must, of course, have seen,Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots,In cakes or little pills, I mean--(Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots,That I am really much to blameFor not remembering the name!)

Still, let me recommend a keg(With maker's name, be sure, above it),'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg,And village idiots simply love it;Old persons sit and scream for it,--I do so hope you'll try a bit!

So efficacious is this stuff,Its virtue and its strength are such,One single bottle is enough,--In fact, at times, 'tis far too much.(The patient dies in frightful pain,Or else survives, and tries again.)

An aunt of mine felt anyhow,All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits,Had freckles badly too; but nowShe doesn't have a thing but fits.She's just as strong as any horse,--Tho' still an invalid, of course.

I had an uncle, too, that way,His health was in a dreadful plight;Would often spend a sleepless day,And lie unconscious half the night.He took two bottles, large and small,And now--he has no health at all!

The Moral plainly bids you buyThis stuff, whose name I have forgotten;You won't regret it, if you try--(My memory is simply rotten!)My funds will profit, in addition,Since I enjoy a small commission!