Cholera Cured Before-hand by Samuel Taylor Coleridge Lyrics

       &nbspPains ventral, subventral,
       &nbspIn stomach or entrail,
       &nbspThink no longer mere prefaces
       &nbspFor grins, groans, and wry faces;
But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl! 5
Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all.


       &nbspNow to 'scape inward aches,
       &nbspEat no plums nor plum-cakes;
       &nbspCry avaunt! new potato—
       &nbspAnd don't drink, like old Cato.
       &nbspAh! beware of Dispipsy,
       &nbspAnd don't ye get tipsy!
       &nbspFor tho' gin and whiskey
       &nbspMay make you feel frisky,
       &nbspThey're but crimps to Dispipsy;
       &nbspAnd nose to tail, with this gipsy
       &nbspComes, black as a porpus,
       &nbspThe diabolus ipse,
       &nbspCall'd Cholery Morpus;
Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion to feed him,
Tho' being a Devil, no one never has seed him!

       &nbspAh! then my dear honies,
       &nbspThere's no cure for you
       &nbspFor loves nor for monies:—
       &nbspYou'll find it too true.
       &nbspOch! the hallabaloo!
       &nbspOch! och! how you'll wail,
       &nbspWhen the offal-fed vagrant
       &nbspShall turn you as blue
       &nbspAs the gas-light unfragrant,
That gushes in jets from beneath his own tail;—
       &nbsp'Till swift as the mail,
       &nbspHe at last brings the cramps on,
       &nbspThat will twist you like Samson.
       &nbspSo without further blethring,
       &nbspDear mudlarks! my brethren!
       &nbspOf all scents and degrees,
       &nbsp(Yourselves and your shes)
       &nbspForswear all cabal, lads,
       &nbspWakes, unions, and rows,
       &nbspHot dreams and cold salads,
       &nbspAnd don't pig in styes that would suffocate sows!
Quit Cobbett's, O'Connell's and Beelzebub's banners,
And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, hands, and manners!