Volume 93 — “COLD ID BY DOZE.”

I’ve got such a hoddible cold id by head, Upod by word, I wish I was dead; I really thig I shall go to bed, Ad tallow by doze, as the Doctor said; He’s cubig agaid this afterdood; Why, it’s half-past three, he’ll be here sood, Ad gib me sub bore of his beastly drugs, Ad tell me to keep warb udder the rugs. Achoo! Achoo! Oh! what shall I do? I’ve coughed ad sdeezed till I’be dearly blue, Ad by doze is so sore, I card blow it bore, It feels as tedder as if it was raw; Subbody told be he’d heard of sub stuff Which you’d odely to sdiff, ad that was eduff; What did he call it? Alkarab, I’ll sedd for sub—I suppose it’s a shab— They always are. Achoo! Achoo! I thig I’be dyig! Oh! what shall I do? Yes, this is the stuff that fellow said Was sure to cure a cold id the head; Two or three sdiffs the beggar swore Would bake you as well as you were before. (He sniffs.) Upod my soul, I believe he’s right, I’be gettig better—it’s wonderful quite, I albost feel as if I bight Go out and dide at the Club to-dight. (He continueth sniffing.) I really will, I feel quite well, As fresh as a rose, and as sound as a bell, And I’ll always swear that the only balm For a cold in the head is Alkaram. “Here, John, put out my evening clothes.” I’ll take my grub To-night at the Club. Soup, fish, and a bird, with a pint of Larose, I think that ought to complete the cure, And make assurance double sure. Achoo! Hullo! Why here’s a go! Achoo! Atishoo! Oh dear! Oh dear! It’s all begiddig agaid, I fear; You card get rid of a cold like bide By sbellig a bottle of bedicide! Soup ad fish! it’s absurd, Or to thigk of a bird, When you card prodoudce a siggle word, Ad as for Larose, the tipple for be Is a cup of boilig lidseed tea. I’ll go to bed, Ad wrap a red Welsh fladdel baddage roud by head, Ad stay at hobe for a budth at least, Till this beastly widd’s do logger East.