The Song of the Sufferer

drink it is Saline Pyretic,
 * He longs, but he shall not eat,

His soul is convulsed with emetic,
 * His stomach is empty of meat.

His bowels are stirred by blind motions,
 * His form in the flannel is bound,

He has gargles, and powders, and potions,
 * And walks as not feeling the ground.

For the doctor has harrowed his being,
 * And of medicine wondrous the might is;

He suffers in agony, seeing
 * He is prey to acute tonsilitis.