I pledge him in your oldest port,
_This_ medical adviser,
For vainly elsewhere might be sought
A cheerier or a wiser,
He bids me speedily return
To ordinary diet--
A sage prescription!--and I burn
To chance results, and try it!

I've lived on air; on food for Lent;
On what some Doctor calls
"Nitrogenous environment"--
A fare that quickly palls.
I'll eat the chops I once did eat;
All care and thought I banish;
And with this unexpected treat
My old dyspeptics vanish.

What though they warn me that at first--
It may be merely fancy--
The stomach's sure to try its worst
In base recalcitrancy?
When half-starved gastric juice is set
To cope with dainty dishes,
The outcome--one may safely bet--
Won't be just what one wishes.

This earth is rich in chemists' shops,
With doctors it abounds,