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8
A Merry Death
My medicines I vary at
The rich man’s house and proletariat;
But there’s no need to be obscure,
I only care, but do not cure.
And grind the poor I never did,
O God forbid, O God forbid!
For wealth from him who’d scrape any?
You take his only ha’penny.
fly medicines I vary at
The rich man’s house and proletariat;
But there’s no need to be obscure,
I only care but do not cure.
Good-day, my dear Harlequin. What’s the matter with you?
Harlequin: That’s for you to judge.
Doctor: You’re quite right. (In Pierrot's ear.) There’s never any need to contradict a patient. (To Harlequin.) Temperature been taken?
Pierrot (shaking his hand): Don’t inquire!
Doctor: How do you feel?
Harlequin: An attack.
Doctor: Of coughing?
Harlequin: Of laughing.
