Deacon Rogers, he came to me;
“Wife is a- going to die,” said he.”
Doctors great and doctors small
Haven’t improved her any at all.
Physics and blisters, powder and pills,
And nothing sure but the doctors’ bills!
Twenty women, with remedies new,
Bother my wife the whole day through.
Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall,
Poor old woman, she takes ‘ em all;
Sour or sweet, whatever they choose,
Poor old woman, she daren’t refuse.
So she pleases whoever may call,
And death is suited the best of all.
Physic and blister, powder and pill—
Bound to conquer, and sure to kill!”
Mrs. Rogers lay in her bed,
Bandaged and blistered from foot to head.
Blistered and bandaged from head to toe,
Mrs. Rogers was very low.
Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup,
On the table stood bravely up,
Physics of high and low degree;
Calomel, catnip, boneset tea,—-
Everything a body could bear,
Excepting light and water and air.
I opened the blinds; the day was bright,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light.
I opened the windows! the day was fair,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air.
Bottles and blisters, powders and pills,
Catnip, boneset, sirups and squills,
Drugs and medicines, high and low,
I threw them as far as I could throw.
“What are you doing?” my patient cried;
“Frightening Death,” I coolly replied.
Deacon Rogers, he came to me;
“Wife is a- gettin’ her health,” said he.
“I really think she will worry through;
She scolds me just as she used to do.
All the people have poohed and slurred—
All the neighbors have had their word;
‘Twere better to perish,’ some of ’em say,
‘Than be cured in such an irregular way.’”
“Your wife,” said I, ” had God’s good care,
And His remedies— light and water and air.
All of the doctors, beyond a doubt,
Couldn’t have cured Mrs. Rogers without.”
The deacon smiled, and bowed his head;
“Then your bill is nothing,” he said.
— Will Carleton.