But wisely, ere his fee he paid,
Desired to have still further aid;
Talked to the doctor as a friend,
Who yawned but once before the end.
“I see,” said he, when Shock gave over,
"That you have lived too long in clover-
I use that phrase the fact to soften-
You've eat too much, and slept too often!
The nervous system is affected
By every thing with mind connected;
And indigestion, does again
Affect the spinal cord and brain.
"At sunrise, when you hear me crow, To Marple-wood, that's two miles, go; There of the spring you first discern, Drink one large draught-then home return." "And is this all?" asked patient Shock. "All, on my word," quoth doctor Cock; To-morrow, lest your way you lose,
I'll guide you thither, if you choose."
The following morn was cold and wet,
Shock felt inclined to sleep-but yet,
Soon as he heard the promised crow,
He roused, and ventured forth to go.
'The way was long, the wind was cold,'
And Shock, though not 'infirm and old,'
Felt, as he shivered in the breeze,
The cure as bad as the disease.
Beside, the Doctor strode along,
Clapping his wings, and crowing strong,
Scarce able to refrain from laughter,
To see his patient waddling after;
Whom yet he flattered at each stage,
With promise of a good old age.
At length, the morning draught was taken,
And Shock got home again, well shaken;
Thinking the regimen severe,
But still resolved to persevere.
A week, a little week, and he
From indigestion quite was free;
A fortnight, and he felt so brisk,
That well as ever he could frisk;
In three weeks, grown genteel and slim,
The lady's maid was friends with him;
A month restored his winning ways,
His lady's love, his lady's praise.
Who in such glee could then be found
As Shock, with health and favour crowned?
Think not the dog forsook his friend:
No, he was faithful to the end;
Called at his lodgings in the stable,
Nay, even caried crumbs from table,
(For though a doctor, Chanticleer
Did none the less admire good cheer);
And when at last the bird was killed,
And either roasted was, or grilled,
Shock proved his friendship true and lasting
By giving that day up to fasting;
Hunger he rather chose to feel,
Than on his friend's bones make a meal!
How sweet the rest that labour yields
The humble and the poor,
Where sits the patriarch of the fields
Before his cottage door!
The lark is singing in the sky,
The swallow in the eaves,
And love is beaming in each eye
Beneath the summer leaves !
The air amid his fragrant bowers
Supplies unpurchased health,
And hearts are bounding 'mid the flowers, More dear to him than wealth;
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