Ah, alas! it is over forever!
Has the climate — which most of us kills —
Settled thee? Say, again shall I never
Read thy name in large type in the bills?
Must I stand at the door with my shilling,
But to hear thy too pitiful tale?
Is it useless to urge that I’m willing —
Quite — to put down one more "for the whale?"
Alas, yes, 'tis too true! Though they caught thee,
Prepared for thee honors untold, —
P'raps with Pongo to dine might have taught thee,—
They couldn't quite cope with thy cold.
And though M.D.'s abound in thy quarter,
Alas, what could their science suggest?
They might say, "Put its tail in hot water,—
Try a plaster or two on its chest.
"Such a cold! — all our practice can't match it;
It floods diagnosis with doubt.
Where on earth did our young patient catch it!
Has it been in the water — or out?
"We can picture an elephant wheezing,
Or a Python knocked over by cramp,
But a whale! — we can't fancy that sneezing,
With a pulse at a hundred — from damp!"
So I wonder, at human invention
If thy too fishy nature took fright,
When each minute, with kindest intention,
Some one soused thee all day — and all night!
If that voyage across the Atlantic, —
Meant to handsomely butter thy bread, —
Made thee long for a voice to cry, frantic,
"Oh! do stop, I’ve a cold in my head!"
Such a cold! Ah, too late they all rue it!
And denounce thy berth minus a lid, —
With a douche! For if that didn't do it,
'Tis not easy to tell thee what did!
Ah! but there, — all is over forever!
Though thy tank daily empties and fills,
I shall never again — I shall never
Read thy name in large type in the bills!
