Six favourite songs (1)/The Doctors

THE DOCTORS.

Be honours which to kings we give,
To doctors also paid;
We’re the king’s subjects while we live,
The doctor’s when we’re dead.

Though when in health and thoughtless mood
We treat them oft with scoffing,
Yet they, returning ill with good,
Relieve us from our coughing. (coffin)

At times they kill us, to be sure,
In cases rather tickle;
But when they’ve killed, they still can cure
Their patients—in a pickle.

And when at last we needs must die—
The doctors cannot save—
From death—they still most kindly try
To snatch us from the grave.