The Earl of Bath, when he was Mr. Pulteney, was very sick of the
pleuristic fever, in Staffordshire. Doctor after doctor had been called
down from London, till his secretary had paid out the sum of three
thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. The last two physicians had
given him up. "He must die," said Drs. Friend and Broxholm. They, however
prescribed some simple remedies, and were about to leave, when the
invalid, just alive, was heard to mutter, "Small beer."
"He asks for small beer," said the attendants. "Shall we give him some?"
"Yes, give him 'small beer,' or anything," replied the doctors.
A great two-quart silver pitcher full was brought, and he drank the whole
contents, and demanded more. The request was granted, and, after drinking
the gallon, he fell asleep, perspired freely, and recovered.