Dear Sherry, I'm sorry for your bloodshedded sore eye, And the more I consider your case, still the more I Regret it, for see how the pain on't has wore ye. Besides, the good Whigs, who strangely adore ye, In pity cry out, "He's a poor blinded Tory." But listen to me, and I'll soon lay before ye A sovereign cure well attested in Gory. First wash it with @3ros,@1 that makes dative @3rori;@1 Then send for three leeches, and let them all gore ye; Then take a cordial dram to restore ye; Then take Lady Judith, and walk a fine boree; Then take a glass of good claret @3ex more;@1 Then stay as long as you can @3ab uxore;@1 And then if friend Dick will but ope your back-door, he Will quickly dispel the black clouds that hang o'er ye, And make you so bright, that you'll sing tory-rory, And make a new ballad worth ten of John Dory! (Though I work your cure, yet he'll get the glory.) I'm now in the back school-house, high up one story, Quite weary with teaching, and ready to @3mori@1. My candle's just out too, no longer I'll pore ye, But away to Clem Barry's -- there's an end of my story. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DREAM OF JULIUS CAESAR by ROBERT FROST AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE WE WEAR THE MASK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE FISHER by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER by THOMAS HOOD LOOKING FORWARD by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |