The morning sun was shining bright,
As lone upon old Georgetown's height,
A Bliss-ful doctor, clad in brown,
Desiring wealth and great renown,
Displayed aloft to wondering eyes
A shrub which bore this strange device,
Cundurango!
A maiden fair, with pallid cheek,
With ardent haste his aid did seek
To stay the progress and the pain
Of carcinoma of the brain;
While still aloft the shrub he bore,
The answer came, with windy roar,
To Cundurango!
A matron old, with long unrest
From carcinoma of the breast,
This Bliss-ful doctor rushed to see,
And begged his aid on bended knee.
The magic shrub waved still on high,
And rushed through air the well-known cry,
Try Cundurango!
The evening sun went down in red--
The maid and matron both were dead;
And yet, through all the realms around,
This worthless shrub, of mighty sound,
Will serve to fill the purse forlorn,
And the cancer succumb "in a horn"
To Cundurango.