Part 2 — CHILDISH COMPLAINTS

I have no knowledge of disease, No notion what ill-health may be, Since Housemaid's Throat and Smoker's Knees Mean something different to me To what they do to other folk. (This is, I vow, no vulgar joke.) Of course, when young, I had complaints, And little childish accidents; For twice I ate a box of paints, And once I swallowed eighteen pence. (N.B., I missed the paints a lot, But got the coins back on the spot.) But no practitioner has seen My tongue since then, down to the present, And I, alas! have never been An interesting convalescent. Ah! why am I alone denied The Humour of a weak inside? Why is it? I will tell you why; A certain mixture is to blame. One day for fun I chanced to try A bottle of—what is the name? That thing they advertise a lot,— (Oh, what a memory I've got!) It's stuff you must, of course, have seen, Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots, In cakes or little pills, I mean— (Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots, That I am really much to blame For not remembering the name!) Still, let me recommend a keg (With maker's name, be sure, above it), 'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg, And village idiots simply love it; Old persons sit and scream for it,— I do so hope you'll try a bit! So efficacious is this stuff, Its virtue and its strength are such, One single bottle is enough,— In fact, at times, 'tis far too much. (The patient dies in frightful pain, Or else survives, and tries again.) An aunt of mine felt anyhow, All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits, Had freckles badly too; but now She doesn't have a thing but fits. She's just as strong as any horse,— Tho' still an invalid, of course. I had an uncle, too, that way, His health was in a dreadful plight; Would often spend a sleepless day, And lie unconscious half the night. He took two bottles, large and small, And now—he has no health at all! The Moral plainly bids you buy This stuff, whose name I have forgotten; You won't regret it, if you try— (My memory is simply rotten!) My funds will profit, in addition, Since I enjoy a small commission!

I've got Appendicitis In my Appendicit, But I don't mind, Because I find I'm quite 'cut out' for it.

If only I had Whooping-cough! I'd join a Circus troupe! And folks would clamour at the door, And pay a shilling—even more, To see me 'Whoop The Whoop.'

Of illnesses like chickenpox And measles I've had lots; I do not like them much, you know, They are not really nice, altho' They're rather nice in spots.

A Cockney maid produced such snores, Folks left the City to avoid them; And all becos, She said, it was Her adenoids that 'ad annoyed them!

I had the Croup, in years gone by, And that is why to-day, Altho' no longer youthful, I Am still a Croupier.