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diff --git a/old/ohp0310.txt b/old/ohp0310.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d041e0d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ohp0310.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1280 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook The Poetical Works of O. W. Holmes, Volume 3. +Medical Poems +#17 in our series by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 3. + Medical Poems + +Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. + +Release Date: January, 2005 [Etext #7390] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[Most recently updated: April 22, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O. W. HOLMES, V3 *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger [widger@cecomet.net] + + + + + + + THE POETICAL WORKS + + OF + + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES + + + 1893 + (Printed in three volumes) + + + + + +CONTENTS: + + THE MORNING VISIT + THE TWO ARMIES + THE STETHOSCOPE SONG + EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM + A POEM FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION + AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853 + A SENTIMENT + RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D. + + + + + + MEDICAL POEMS + + + + +THE MORNING VISIT + +A sick man's chamber, though it often boast +The grateful presence of a literal toast, +Can hardly claim, amidst its various wealth, +The right unchallenged to propose a health; +Yet though its tenant is denied the feast, +Friendship must launch his sentiment at least, +As prisoned damsels, locked from lovers' lips, +Toss them a kiss from off their fingers' tips. + +The morning visit,--not till sickness falls +In the charmed circles of your own safe walls; +Till fever's throb and pain's relentless rack +Stretch you all helpless on your aching back; +Not till you play the patient in your turn, +The morning visit's mystery shall you learn. + +'T is a small matter in your neighbor's case, +To charge your fee for showing him your face; +You skip up-stairs, inquire, inspect, and touch, +Prescribe, take leave, and off to twenty such. + +But when at length, by fate's transferred decree, +The visitor becomes the visitee, +Oh, then, indeed, it pulls another string; +Your ox is gored, and that's a different thing! +Your friend is sick: phlegmatic as a Turk, +You write your recipe and let it work; +Not yours to stand the shiver and the frown, +And sometimes worse, with which your draught goes down. +Calm as a clock your knowing hand directs, +/Rhei, jalapae ana grana sex/, +Or traces on some tender missive's back, +/Scrupulos duos pulveris ipecac/; +And leaves your patient to his qualms and gripes, +Cool as a sportsman banging at his snipes. +But change the time, the person, and the place, +And be yourself "the interesting case," +You'll gain some knowledge which it's well to learn; +In future practice it may serve your turn. +Leeches, for instance,--pleasing creatures quite; +Try them,--and bless you,--don't you find they bite? +You raise a blister for the smallest cause, +But be yourself the sitter whom it draws, +And trust my statement, you will not deny +The worst of draughtsmen is your Spanish fly! +It's mighty easy ordering when you please, +/Infusi sennae capiat uncias tres/; +It's mighty different when you quackle down +Your own three ounces of the liquid brown. +/Pilula, pulvis/,--pleasant words enough, +When other throats receive the shocking stuff; +But oh, what flattery can disguise the groan +That meets the gulp which sends it through your own! +Be gentle, then, though Art's unsparing rules +Give you the handling of her sharpest tools; +Use them not rashly,--sickness is enough; +Be always "ready," but be never "rough." + +Of all the ills that suffering man endures, +The largest fraction liberal Nature cures; +Of those remaining, 't is the smallest part +Yields to the efforts of judicious Art; +But simple _Kindness_, kneeling by the bed +To shift the pillow for the sick man's head, +Give the fresh draught to cool the lips that burn, +Fan the hot brow, the weary frame to turn,-- +Kindness, untutored by our grave M. D.'s, +But Nature's graduate, when she schools to please, +Wins back more sufferers with her voice and smile +Than all the trumpery in the druggist's pile. + +Once more, be quiet: coming up the stair, +Don't be a plantigrade, a human bear, +But, stealing softly on the silent toe, +Reach the sick chamber ere you're heard below. +Whatever changes there may greet your eyes, +Let not your looks proclaim the least surprise; +It's not your business by your face to show +All that your patient does not want to know; +Nay, use your optics with considerate care, +And don't abuse your privilege to stare. +But if your eyes may probe him overmuch, +Beware still further how you rudely touch; +Don't clutch his carpus in your icy fist, +But warm your fingers ere you take the wrist. +If the poor victim needs must be percussed, +Don't make an anvil of his aching bust; +(Doctors exist within a hundred miles +Who thump a thorax as they'd hammer piles;) +If you must listen to his doubtful chest, +Catch the essentials, and ignore the rest. +Spare him; the sufferer wants of you and art +A track to steer by, not a finished chart. +So of your questions: don't in mercy try +To pump your patient absolutely dry; +He's not a mollusk squirming in a dish, +You're not Agassiz; and he's not a fish. + +And last, not least, in each perplexing case, +Learn the sweet magic of a cheerful face; +Not always smiling, but at least serene, +When grief and anguish cloud the anxious scene. +Each look, each movement, every word and tone, +Should tell your patient you are all his own; +Not the mere artist, purchased to attend, +But the warm, ready, self-forgetting friend, +Whose genial visit in itself combines +The best of cordials, tonics, anodynes. + +Such is the _visit_ that from day to day +Sheds o'er my chamber its benignant ray. +I give his health, who never cared to claim +Her babbling homage from the tongue of Fame; +Unmoved by praise, he stands by all confest, +The truest, noblest, wisest, kindest, best. + +1849. + + + + + +THE TWO ARMIES + +As Life's unending column pours, +Two marshalled hosts are seen,-- +Two armies on the trampled shores +That Death flows black between. + +One marches to the drum-beat's roll, +The wide-mouthed clarion's bray, +And bears upon a crimson scroll, +"Our glory is to slay." + +One moves in silence by the stream, +With sad, yet watchful eyes, +Calm as the patient planet's gleam +That walks the clouded skies. + +Along its front no sabres shine, +No blood-red pennons wave; +Its banner bears the single line, +"Our duty is to save." + +For those no death-bed's lingering shade; +At Honor's trumpet-call, +With knitted brow and lifted blade +In Glory's arms they fall. + +For these no clashing falchions bright, +No stirring battle-cry; +The bloodless stabber calls by night,-- +Each answers, "Here am I!" + +For those the sculptor's laurelled bust, +The builder's marble piles, +The anthems pealing o'er their dust +Through long cathedral aisles. + +For these the blossom-sprinkled turf +That floods the lonely graves +When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf +In flowery-foaming waves. + +Two paths lead upward from below, +And angels wait above, +Who count each burning life-drop's flow, +Each falling tear of Love. + +Though from the Hero's bleeding breast +Her pulses Freedom drew, +Though the white lilies in her crest +Sprang from that scarlet dew,-- + +While Valor's haughty champions wait +Till all their scars are shown, +Love walks unchallenged through the gate, +To sit beside the Throne + + + + + +THE STETHOSCOPE SONG + +A PROFESSIONAL BALLAD + +THERE was a young man in Boston town, +He bought him a stethoscope nice and new, +All mounted and finished and polished down, +With an ivory cap and a stopper too. + +It happened a spider within did crawl, +And spun him a web of ample size, +Wherein there chanced one day to fall +A couple of very imprudent flies. + +The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue, +The second was smaller, and thin and long; +So there was a concert between the two, +Like an octave flute and a tavern gong. + +Now being from Paris but recently, +This fine young man would show his skill; +And so they gave him, his hand to try, +A hospital patient extremely ill. + +Some said that his liver was short of bile, +And some that his heart was over size, +While some kept arguing, all the while, +He was crammed with tubercles up to his eyes. + +This fine young man then up stepped he, +And all the doctors made a pause; +Said he, The man must die, you see, +By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws. + +But since the case is a desperate one, +To explore his chest it may be well; +For if he should die and it were not done, +You know the autopsy would not tell. + +Then out his stethoscope he took, +And on it placed his curious ear; +Mon Dieu! said he, with a knowing look, +Why, here is a sound that 's mighty queer + +The bourdonnement is very clear,-- +Amphoric buzzing, as I'm alive +Five doctors took their turn to hear; +Amphoric buzzing, said all the five. + +There's empyema beyond a doubt; +We'll plunge a trocar in his side. +The diagnosis was made out,-- +They tapped the patient; so he died. + +Now such as hate new-fashioned toys +Began to look extremely glum; +They said that rattles were made for boys, +And vowed that his buzzing was all a hum. + +There was an old lady had long been sick, +And what was the matter none did know +Her pulse was slow, though her tongue was quick; +To her this knowing youth must go. + +So there the nice old lady sat, +With phials and boxes all in a row; +She asked the young doctor what he was at, +To thump her and tumble her ruffles so. + +Now, when the stethoscope came out, +The flies began to buzz and whiz +Oh ho I the matter is clear, no doubt; +An aneurism there plainly is. + +The bruit de rape and the bruit de scie +And the bruit de diable are all combined; +How happy Bouillaud would be, +If he a case like this could find! + +Now, when the neighboring doctors found +A case so rare had been descried, +They every day her ribs did pound +In squads of twenty; so she died. + +Then six young damsels, slight and frail, +Received this kind young doctor's cares; +They all were getting slim and pale, +And short of breath on mounting stairs. + +They all made rhymes with "sighs" and "skies," +And loathed their puddings and buttered rolls, +And dieted, much to their friends' surprise, +On pickles and pencils and chalk and coals. + +So fast their little hearts did bound, +The frightened insects buzzed the more; +So over all their chests he found +The rale sifflant and the rale sonore. + +He shook his head. There's grave disease,-- +I greatly fear you all must die; +A slight post-mortem, if you please, +Surviving friends would gratify. + +The six young damsels wept aloud, +Which so prevailed on six young men +That each his honest love avowed, +Whereat they all got well again. + +This poor young man was all aghast; +The price of stethoscopes came down; +And so he was reduced at last +To practise in a country town. + +The doctors being very sore, +A stethoscope they did devise +That had a rammer to clear the bore, +With a knob at the end to kill the flies. + +Now use your ears, all you that can, +But don't forget to mind your eyes, +Or you may be cheated, like this young man, +By a couple of silly, abnormal flies. + + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM + +THE STABILITY OF SCIENCE + +THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms, +On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms, +And the rude granite scatters for their pains +Those small deposits that were meant for brains. +Yet the proud fabric in the morning's sun +Stands all unconscious of the mischief done; +Still the red beacon pours its evening rays +For the lost pilot with as full a blaze,-- +Nay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scattered fleet +Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet. + +I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims +To call our kind by such ungentle names; +Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare, +Think of their doom, ye simple, and beware + +See where aloft its hoary forehead rears +The towering pride of twice a thousand years! +Far, far below the vast incumbent pile +Sleeps the gray rock from art's AEgean isle +Its massive courses, circling as they rise, +Swell from the waves to mingle with the skies; +There every quarry lends its marble spoil, +And clustering ages blend their common toil; +The Greek, the Roman, reared its ancient walls, +The silent Arab arched its mystic halls; +In that fair niche, by countless billows laved, +Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved; +On yon broad front that breasts the changing swell, +Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell; +By that square buttress look where Louis stands, +The stone yet warm from his uplifted hands; +And say, O Science, shall thy life-blood freeze, +When fluttering folly flaps on walls like these? + + +A PORTRAIT + +Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age; +Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage; +Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer, +And only just when seemingly severe; +So gently blending courtesy and art +That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing friendship's heart. + +Taught by the sorrows that his age had known +In others' trials to forget his own, +As hour by hour his lengthened day declined, +A sweeter radiance lingered o'er his mind. +Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise, +And hushed the voices of his morning days, +Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue, +And love renewing kept him ever young. + + +A SENTIMENT +/O Bios Bpaxus/,--life is but a song; +/H rexvn uakpn/,--art is wondrous long; +Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair, +And Patience smiles, though Genius may despair. +Give us but knowledge, though by slow degrees, +And blend our toil with moments bright as these; +Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful way, +And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray,-- +Our tardy Art shall wear an angel's wings, +And life shall lengthen with the joy it brings I + + + + + +A POEM + +FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION +AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853 + +I HOLD a letter in my hand,-- +A flattering letter, more's the pity,-- +By some contriving junto planned, +And signed _per order of Committee_. +It touches every tenderest spot,-- +My patriotic predilections, +My well-known-something-don't ask what,-- +My poor old songs, my kind affections. + +They make a feast on Thursday next, +And hope to make the feasters merry; +They own they're something more perplexed +For poets than for port and sherry. +They want the men of--(word torn out); +Our friends will come with anxious faces, +(To see our blankets off, no doubt, +And trot us out and show our paces.) + +They hint that papers by the score +Are rather musty kind of rations,-- +They don't exactly mean a bore, +But only trying to the patience; +That such as--you know who I mean-- +Distinguished for their--what d' ye call 'em-- +Should bring the dews of Hippocrene +To sprinkle on the faces solemn. + +--The same old story: that's the chaff +To catch the birds that sing the ditties; +Upon my soul, it makes me laugh +To read these letters from Committees! +They're all so loving and so fair,-- +All for your sake such kind compunction; +'T would save your carriage half its wear +To touch its wheels with such an unction! + +Why, who am I, to lift me here +And beg such learned folk to listen, +To ask a smile, or coax a tear +Beneath these stoic lids to glisten? +As well might some arterial thread +Ask the whole frame to feel it gushing, +While throbbing fierce from heel to head +The vast aortic tide was rushing. + +As well some hair-like nerve might strain +To set its special streamlet going, +While through the myriad-channelled brain +The burning flood of thought was flowing; +Or trembling fibre strive to keep +The springing haunches gathered shorter, +While the scourged racer, leap on leap, +Was stretching through the last hot quarter! + +Ah me! you take the bud that came +Self-sown in your poor garden's borders, +And hand it to the stately dame +That florists breed for, all she orders. +She thanks you,--it was kindly meant,-- +(A pale afair, not worth the keeping,)-- +Good morning; and your bud is sent +To join the tea-leaves used for sweeping. + +Not always so, kind hearts and true,-- +For such I know are round me beating; +Is not the bud I offer you, +Fresh gathered for the hour of meeting, +Pale though its outer leaves may be, +Rose-red in all its inner petals?-- +Where the warm life we cannot see-- +The life of love that gave it--settles. + + +We meet from regions far away, +Like rills from distant mountains streaming; +The sun is on Francisco's bay, +O'er Chesapeake the lighthouse gleaming; +While summer girds the still bayou +In chains of bloom, her bridal token, +Monadnock sees the sky grow blue, +His crystal bracelet yet unbroken. + +Yet Nature bears the selfsame heart +Beneath her russet-mantled bosom +As where, with burning lips apart, +She breathes and white magnolias blossom; +The selfsame founts her chalice fill +With showery sunlight running over, +On fiery plain and frozen hill, +On myrtle-beds and fields of clover. + +I give you Home! its crossing lines +United in one golden suture, +And showing every day that shines +The present growing to the future,-- +A flag that bears a hundred stars +In one bright ring, with love for centre, +Fenced round with white and crimson bars +No prowling treason dares to enter! + +O brothers, home may be a word +To make affection's living treasure, +The wave an angel might have stirred, +A stagnant pool of selfish pleasure; +HOME! It is where the day-star springs +And where the evening sun reposes, +Where'er the eagle spreads his wings, +From northern pines to southern roses! + + + + + +A SENTIMENT + +A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art, +From heads and hands that own a common heart! +Each in its turn the others' willing slave, +Each in its season strong to heal and save. + +Friendship's blind service, in the hour of need, +Wipes the pale face, and lets the victim bleed. +Science must stop to reason and explain; +ART claps his finger on the streaming vein. + +But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last; +Then SCIENCE lifts the flambeau of the past. +When both their equal impotence deplore, +When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more, +The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heavenly balm, +And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm +May 1, 1855. + + + + + +RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D. + +AN AFTER-DINNER PRESCRIPTION TAKEN BY THE MASSACHUSETTS +MEDICAL SOCIETY, AT THEIR MEETING HELD MAY 25, 1870 + + +CANTO FIRST + +OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip, +Of the paternal block a genuine chip,-- +A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap; +He, like his grandsire, took a mighty nap, +Whereof the story I propose to tell +In two brief cantos, if you listen well. + +The times were hard when Rip to manhood grew; +They always will be when there's work to do. +He tried at farming,--found it rather slow,-- +And then at teaching--what he did n't know; +Then took to hanging round the tavern bars, +To frequent toddies and long-nine cigars, +Till Dame Van Winkle, out of patience, vexed +With preaching homilies, having for their text +A mop, a broomstick, aught that might avail +To point a moral or adorn a tale, +Exclaimed, "I have it! Now, then, Mr. V. +He's good for something,--make him an M. D.!" + +The die was cast; the youngster was content; +They packed his shirts and stockings, and he went. +How hard he studied it were vain to tell; +He drowsed through Wistar, nodded over Bell, +Slept sound with Cooper, snored aloud on Good; +Heard heaps of lectures,--doubtless understood,-- +A constant listener, for he did not fail +To carve his name on every bench and rail. + +Months grew to years; at last he counted three, +And Rip Van Winkle found himself M. D. +Illustrious title! in a gilded frame +He set the sheepskin with his Latin name, +RIPUM VAN WINKLUM, QUEM we--SCIMUS--know +IDONEUM ESSE--to do so and so. +He hired an office; soon its walls displayed +His new diploma and his stock in trade, +A mighty arsenal to subdue disease, +Of various names, whereof I mention these +Lancets and bougies, great and little squirt, +Rhubarb and Senna, Snakeroot, Thoroughwort, +Ant. Tart., Vin. Colch., Pil. Cochiae, and Black Drop, +Tinctures of Opium, Gentian, Henbane, Hop, +Pulv. Ipecacuanhae, which for lack +Of breath to utter men call Ipecac, +Camphor and Kino, Turpentine, Tolu, +Cubebs, "Copeevy," Vitriol,--white and blue,-- +Fennel and Flaxseed, Slippery Elm and Squill, +And roots of Sassafras, and "Sassaf'rill," +Brandy,--for colics,--Pinkroot, death on worms,-- +Valerian, calmer of hysteric squirms, +Musk, Assafoetida, the resinous gum +Named from its odor,--well, it does smell some,-- +Jalap, that works not wisely, but too well, +Ten pounds of Bark and six of Calomel. + +For outward griefs he had an ample store, +Some twenty jars and gallipots, or more: +/Ceratum simplex/--housewives oft compile +The same at home, and call it "wax and ile;" +/Unguentum resinosum/--change its name, +The "drawing salve" of many an ancient dame; +/Argenti Nitras/, also Spanish flies, +Whose virtue makes the water-bladders rise-- +(Some say that spread upon a toper's skin +They draw no water, only rum or gin); +Leeches, sweet vermin! don't they charm the sick? +And Sticking-plaster--how it hates to stick +/Emplastrum Ferri/--ditto /Picis/, Pitch; +Washes and Powders, Brimstone for the--which, +/Scabies/ or /Psora/, is thy chosen name +Since Hahnemann's goose-quill scratched thee into fame, +Proved thee the source of every nameless ill, +Whose sole specific is a moonshine pill, +Till saucy Science, with a quiet grin, +Held up the Acarus, crawling on a pin? +--Mountains have labored and have brought forth mice +The Dutchman's theory hatched a brood of--twice +I've well-nigh said them--words unfitting quite +For these fair precincts and for ears polite. + +The surest foot may chance at last to slip, +And so at length it proved with Doctor Rip. +One full-sized bottle stood upon the shelf, +Which held the medicine that he took himself; +Whate'er the reason, it must be confessed +He filled that bottle oftener than the rest; +What drug it held I don't presume to know-- +The gilded label said "Elixir Pro." + +One day the Doctor found the bottle full, +And, being thirsty, took a vigorous pull, +Put back the "Elixir" where 't was always found, +And had old Dobbin saddled and brought round. +--You know those old-time rhubarb-colored nags +That carried Doctors and their saddle-bags; +Sagacious beasts! they stopped at every place +Where blinds were shut--knew every patient's case-- +Looked up and thought--The baby's in a fit-- +That won't last long--he'll soon be through with it; +But shook their heads before the knockered door +Where some old lady told the story o'er +Whose endless stream of tribulation flows +For gastric griefs and peristaltic woes. + +What jack-o'-lantern led him from his way, +And where it led him, it were hard to say; +Enough that wandering many a weary mile +Through paths the mountain sheep trod single file, +O'ercome by feelings such as patients know +Who dose too freely with "Elixir Pro.," +He tumbl--dismounted, slightly in a heap, +And lay, promiscuous, lapped in balmy sleep. + +Night followed night, and day succeeded day, +But snoring still the slumbering Doctor lay. +Poor Dobbin, starving, thought upon his stall, +And straggled homeward, saddle-bags and all. +The village people hunted all around, +But Rip was missing,--never could be found. +"Drownded," they guessed;--for more than half a year +The pouts and eels did taste uncommon queer; +Some said of apple-brandy--other some +Found a strong flavor of New England rum. + +Why can't a fellow hear the fine things said +About a fellow when a fellow's dead? +The best of doctors--so the press declared-- +A public blessing while his life was spared, +True to his country, bounteous to the poor, +In all things temperate, sober, just, and pure; +The best of husbands! echoed Mrs. Van, +And set her cap to catch another man. + +So ends this Canto--if it's quantum suff., +We'll just stop here and say we've had enough, +And leave poor Rip to sleep for thirty years; +I grind the organ--if you lend your ears +To hear my second Canto, after that +We 'll send around the monkey with the hat. + + +CANTO SECOND + +So thirty years had passed--but not a word +In all that time of Rip was ever heard; +The world wagged on--it never does go back-- +The widow Van was now the widow Mac---- +France was an Empire--Andrew J. was dead, +And Abraham L. was reigning in his stead. +Four murderous years had passed in savage strife, +Yet still the rebel held his bloody knife. + +--At last one morning--who forgets the day +When the black cloud of war dissolved away +The joyous tidings spread o'er land and sea, +Rebellion done for! Grant has captured Lee! +Up every flagstaff sprang the Stars and Stripes-- +Out rushed the Extras wild with mammoth types-- +Down went the laborer's hod, the school-boy's book-- +"Hooraw!" he cried, "the rebel army's took!" +Ah! what a time! the folks all mad with joy +Each fond, pale mother thinking of her boy; +Old gray-haired fathers meeting--"Have--you--heard?" +And then a choke--and not another word; +Sisters all smiling--maidens, not less dear, +In trembling poise between a smile and tear; +Poor Bridget thinking how she 'll stuff the plums +In that big cake for Johnny when he comes; +Cripples afoot; rheumatics on the jump; +Old girls so loving they could hug the pump; +Guns going bang! from every fort and ship; +They banged so loud at last they wakened Rip. + +I spare the picture, how a man appears +Who's been asleep a score or two of years; +You all have seen it to perfection done +By Joe Van Wink--I mean Rip Jefferson. +Well, so it was; old Rip at last came back, +Claimed his old wife--the present widow Mac---- +Had his old sign regilded, and began +To practise physic on the same old plan. +Some weeks went by--it was not long to wait-- +And "please to call" grew frequent on the slate. +He had, in fact, an ancient, mildewed air, +A long gray beard, a plenteous lack of hair,-- +The musty look that always recommends +Your good old Doctor to his ailing friends. +--Talk of your science! after all is said +There's nothing like a bare and shiny head; +Age lends the graces that are sure to please; +Folks want their Doctors mouldy, like their cheese. + +So Rip began to look at people's tongues +And thump their briskets (called it "sound their lungs"), +Brushed up his knowledge smartly as he could, +Read in old Cullen and in Doctor Good. +The town was healthy; for a month or two +He gave the sexton little work to do. + +About the time when dog-day heats begin, +The summer's usual maladies set in; +With autumn evenings dysentery came, +And dusky typhoid lit his smouldering flame; +The blacksmith ailed, the carpenter was down, +And half the children sickened in the town. +The sexton's face grew shorter than before-- +The sexton's wife a brand-new bonnet wore-- +Things looked quite serious--Death had got a grip +On old and young, in spite of Doctor Rip. + +And now the Squire was taken with a chill-- +Wife gave "hot-drops"--at night an Indian pill; +Next morning, feverish--bedtime, getting worse-- +Out of his head--began to rave and curse; +The Doctor sent for--double quick he came +/Ant. Tart. gran. duo/, and repeat the same +If no et cetera. Third day--nothing new; +Percussed his thorax till 't was black and blue-- +Lung-fever threatening--something of the sort-- +Out with the lancet--let him bleed--a quart-- +Ten leeches next--then blisters to his side; +Ten grains of calomel; just then he died. + +The Deacon next required the Doctor's care-- +Took cold by sitting in a draught of air-- +Pains in the back, but what the matter is +Not quite so clear,--wife calls it "rheumatiz." +Rubs back with flannel--gives him something hot-- +"Ah!" says the Deacon, "that goes nigh the spot." +Next day a rigor--"Run, my little man, +And say the Deacon sends for Doctor Van." +The Doctor came--percussion as before, +Thumping and banging till his ribs were sore-- +"Right side the flattest"--then more vigorous raps-- +"Fever--that's certain--pleurisy, perhaps. +A quart of blood will ease the pain, no doubt, +Ten leeches next will help to suck it out, +Then clap a blister on the painful part-- +But first two grains of /Antimonium Tart/. +Last with a dose of cleansing calomel +Unload the portal system--(that sounds well!)" + +But when the selfsame remedies were tried, +As all the village knew, the Squire had died; + +The neighbors hinted. "This will never do; +He's killed the Squire--he'll kill the Deacon too." + +Now when a doctor's patients are perplexed, +A consultation comes in order next-- +You know what that is? In a certain place +Meet certain doctors to discuss a case +And other matters, such as weather, crops, +Potatoes, pumpkins, lager-beer, and hops. +For what's the use?--there 's little to be said, +Nine times in ten your man's as good as dead; +At best a talk (the secret to disclose) +Where three men guess and sometimes one man knows. + +The counsel summoned came without delay-- +Young Doctor Green and shrewd old Doctor Gray-- +They heard the story--"Bleed!" says Doctor Green, +"That's downright murder! cut his throat, you mean +Leeches! the reptiles! Why, for pity's sake, +Not try an adder or a rattlesnake? +Blisters! Why bless you, they 're against the law-- +It's rank assault and battery if they draw +Tartrate of Antimony! shade of Luke, +Stomachs turn pale at thought of such rebuke! +The portal system! What's the man about? +Unload your nonsense! Calomel's played out! +You've been asleep--you'd better sleep away +Till some one calls you." + +"Stop!" says Doctor Gray-- +"The story is you slept for thirty years; +With brother Green, I own that it appears +You must have slumbered most amazing sound; +But sleep once more till thirty years come round, +You'll find the lancet in its honored place, +Leeches and blisters rescued from disgrace, +Your drugs redeemed from fashion's passing scorn, +And counted safe to give to babes unborn." + +Poor sleepy Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D., +A puzzled, serious, saddened man was he; +Home from the Deacon's house he plodded slow +And filled one bumper of "Elixir Pro." +"Good-by," he faltered, "Mrs. Van, my dear! +I'm going to sleep, but wake me once a year; +I don't like bleaching in the frost and dew, +I'll take the barn, if all the same to you. +Just once a year--remember! no mistake! +Cry, 'Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!' +Watch for the week in May when laylocks blow, +For then the Doctors meet, and I must go." + +Just once a year the Doctor's worthy dame +Goes to the barn and shouts her husband's name; +"Come, Rip Van Winkle!" (giving him a shake) +"Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake! +Laylocks in blossom! 't is the month of May-- +The Doctors' meeting is this blessed day, +And come what will, you know I heard you swear +You'd never miss it, but be always there!" + +And so it is, as every year comes round +Old Rip Van Winkle here is always found. +You'll quickly know him by his mildewed air, +The hayseed sprinkled through his scanty hair, +The lichens growing on his rusty suit-- +I've seen a toadstool sprouting on his boot-- +Who says I lie? Does any man presume?-- +Toadstool? No matter--call it a mushroom. +Where is his seat? He moves it every year; +But look, you'll find him,--he is always here,-- +Perhaps you'll track him by a whiff you know-- +A certain flavor of "Elixir Pro." + +Now, then, I give you--as you seem to think +We can give toasts without a drop to drink-- +Health to the mighty sleeper,--long live he! +Our brother Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.! + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O. W. 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