English poem
(By A Society Gossiper.)
by George R. Sims (1847–1922)
He’s the dropsy, he’s the gout, And he looks like pegging out; And he’s sobbing and he’s sighing all the day-- All the day.
He is haggard, he is pale, And his limbs begin to fail, And his whiskers and moustache are going gray-- Going gray.
He is but a bag of bones, And he lies awake and groans, When he’s carried by his valet up to bed-- Up to bed.
He is hollow cheeked and eyed, And, though everything is tried, He never sleeps a moment for neuralgia in the head-- In the head.
Bitter tears are in his eyes Night and morning, as he cries, “Oh, my health is slowly breaking: I’m so ill-- I’m so ill!
“I shall soon be on the shelf, For I’m ‘going’ like a Guelph. Please oblige me with my mixture and a pill-- And a pill.”