Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Cholera Cured Before-hand

       &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!