The goldfields had yielded their' wonderful spoil, , , And a store of bright nuggets rewarded his toil; Tho thought of return to his own native town, When tho dread influenza, had 'stricken him down. Of what uso nll my gold, the poor sufferer said, Ab he turned to the comrade who watohed bj; his head, I would give every ounce of that metal so miro, For a bottle of Woods' Great Peppermint Cure, , W'J
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/DOM19121221.2.123.2
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Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1629, 21 December 1912, Page 11
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73Page 11 Advertisements Column 2 Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1629, 21 December 1912, Page 11
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