Dr. Figg's wife attacked him with a caduceus--
Dr. Pennington gave him apple cider to counteract moral rot, and tincture of opium for the pain;
Soon Dr. Figg recovered, though he gave up his practice and spent long days sitting in his garden,
Tying sailor's knots.
Dr. Andrews championed luck, even in the most extreme cases--
He instructed his nurse to fold four leaf clovers into the charts of his patients;
Within a week, the files were in perfect order,
Because all of the subjects had died, though it has to be said,
None expired by accident or misadventure.
Dr. Hanley was a student of the four humors--
At night, in his office, he studied black and yellow bile, until it drove him to despair;
Paliative treatments became his specialty,
And in furtherance of this policy, he left revolvers on the examining table pillows,
And bullets in a nearby emesis basin.
In time, Dr. Andrews gave up practice and became a clergyman--
Dr. Hanley an undertaker.
"What ever became of Dr. Figg?" one asked the other at graveside one afternoon;
Unknown to them, he had adopted a life at sea,
Drinking no salt water,
And husbanding a wedge of lime
Next to his harpoon and an ivory comb with a pastoral scene carved into the handle.
This began as a comment I made yesterday at somebody's blog. I decided to expand it here.