"The Pill Trade has fallen on evil days; no ex-service men seem to
require pills."--_A pill manufacturer summoned for rates at Willesden._
O Benefactor of the British Tommy,
So often sick in far unfriendly climes,
What tears of sympathy are flowing from me
To learn that you have fallen on evil times!
Yea, to my mind 'tis little short of tragic
That men no longer buy your potent spheres of magic!
Scarce less detested than the Bulgar bullet
Your bitter pellets of Quin. Sulph. gr. 5
Have often stuck in my long-suffering gullet,
Leaving me barely more than half alive,
Whilst the accursed drug, whose taste I dread,
Hummed like an aeroplane within my throbbing head.
And what about Acetyl-Salicylic,
And what of Calomels and Soda Sals?
Existence had been even less idyllic
Without those powerful and faithful pals!
Why, midst the fevers of the Struma plain you
Furnished the greater part of Tommy's daily menu.
Or what of that infallible specific,
Your Pil. Cathartic Comp., or No. 9,
Whose world-wide influence must have been terrific
Since first it found its footing in the Line?
The British Tommy took it by the million--
Why should it fail to sell now he has turned civilian?
It is not base ingratitude that blinds him
To recognition of an ancient debt,
But rather that the sight of these reminds him
Of painful days which he would fain forget.
When life was one long round of guards and drills,
Marches, patrols, fatigues and sick parades--and pills.
Yet hear me, maker of the potent pilule:
Although my days of soldiering are o'er,
I'm fondly trusting that, when next I'm ill, you
Come to my rescue as you came of yore;
Meanwhile you'll understand that I, for one,
Refuse to buy your wares and eat them just for fun.
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