Woe to the land where those who guide,
To please the people's foolish pride,
Persuade them there is nought to dread,
When ruin threatens o'er their head.
A patient, ask'd to tell his pains,
Of thirst and shivering cold complains.
"'Tis very good," the doctor said;
"He has but to remain in bed,
And take the med'cines I shall send,
The thing will soon be at an end."
When next the question was repeated,
The man complain'd he much was heated;
"This," cried the leech, "is better still!"
And thus to each increasing ill,
"That it was going well," he cried,
Till the poor martyr sunk and died.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]