POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2244, 7 May 1881, Page 3

POETRY.

TE WOFUL BALLAD OF YE DOCTOBS: OR, HOSPITAL SECRETS EXHUMED. [A very long way after Edgar Allan Poe.] Sitting in my chamber lonely Which it is but nine feet square— Rrom enough for one, but only Riom enough, and none to spare; Sitting in my chamber lonely. Muse I on this strange affair. ***** Ah, distinctly I remember It wasn’t in the ‘ bleak December,’ — A coldish night in April Was the period of the year ; Whilst on my stretcher sitting In an attitude befitting One’s comfort—to my optics A strange vision did appear. Through the clouds of fragrance, slowly Wafted from my calumet, Rose a ghastly, grim, and wholly Strange and antiquated form. Like a skeleton with skin on Which defied the busy worm. An illusion, thought T, surely Must have gotten hold of me ; ’ Tia a freak of fancy, purely. And I smiled—but not with glee, For there stood the figure, grimly, Grimly frowning down on me. Then to myself adapting This allusion strange and queer, I bid the ghost “ Good evening,” In the usual form of cheer ; But he only winked an eye at me, And gave a horrid leer. “ What’s your business,” said I, “then, sir, That you seek the haunts of men, sir ? Have you come as some dispenser Of State secrets from Below ?” Then he laughed—the word Dispenser (As it were a “ modest quencher ” ) Seemed to set him all aglow ! “ Know,” he said, “ Thou mortal lowly” Then this figure grave and moley Open’d wide his lantern jaws—- “ Know that I have come here solely To expose your mundane laws. Your weak and silly laws, yonr wholly Bad and inefficient laws. Quoth I, “ Ghost, you speak most fairly. Seldom have I—very rarely. At our Boards or City Council Heard of ought so wise before. 1 a cynic am, good master, And Life’s gammon much deplore.” Speaking thus in sad dejection At the bitter recollection Of so much in our selection That is rotten at the core, I asked my ghostly visitor 'Co be somewhat expliciter. “ Tell me,” said I, “ what is It, sir, With which you are boiling o’er?” “ Yon must know,” said he, “ my master. That some eighteen moons ago. To me ’fell a strange disaster—'Chat is, I fell ill, and so Entered in a big Sick Refuge, Went up for my * little go.' “ From the dawn of youth—quite early, I’d been-troubled much with worms, And bad spent a fortune nearly, Baying purgatives and tqntrms ; That is what my real complaint was. Leaving out those Latin terms. “But the doctors round me hover’d Quite a week or two, or more, For my ease it rather bothered Their great yEioulapian lore Till at last they got to fighting O’er my prostrate carcase sore. “ One pronounced I had phrenitis, Which, between. Sir, me and you, With a human’s epigastrium Has, in science, nought to do; While gastro entiritis Said another was my woe. “ And these iEsoulapians worthy Plugged me much with physio strong— With intermittent doses plugged me Through the days and nights so long ; But those worms they ne’er suspected, Not a member of the throng! “ Supporting gastro enteritis There were three good men and true; Against it hypochondriasis Was the verdict of a few ; Others said chronic gastritis ’ Symptoms were exposed to view. “ All this time, those worms a-working At my vitals were, most sure. Then the Doctors got consulting O’er new remedies for cure ; But the Tape worms did my business Ere their plans they could mature. “ In the little Bone House lonely I was laid in etiffi h state, And the worms were found, then, only When discovery was too late; Ho they gastro enteritis Entered in the Book of Fate * “ Then occurred a row most painful The ‘legalised quacks' among, And the people half disdainful. Watched afar the battle strong, _ For Neddy said I died of typhoid, And the Register was wrong. “ Whilst my body poor was rotting In my section ‘ six by two,’ The Doctors, plot and counter-plotting, Waged that war so bad begun, Till they got a ‘ Royal Commission ’ — Then a Skae thing wrong was done. “ These contumacious medicoes Fought their battles o’er again, In a sort of ‘ mimic warfare ’ O’er the body of their slain— My poor unhappy self, that is, You’ll permit me to explain. “And when the trial was over The bewildered Dr. 8k e (I ike a certain friend of Balaam’s) Gave bis celebrated bray—--1 A case of typhoid fever clear. Truly I make oath and say,’ “ But it wasn't typhoid fever. Nor were other learned terms To this case of mine allied, for It mas purely one of worms, Which goes to show the emptiness Of these high, official forms.” Ending thus, in accents dreary, His ead tale of trouble sore, This strange visitor and queer, he Glided through my chamber door— Glided through the kauri panels Of ray little chamber door I A. V. * Register of Deaths.