@3Lockly spits apace, the rheum he calls it, But no drop@1 (@3though often urged@1) @3he straineth From his thirsty jaws, yet all the morning And all day he spits, in ev'ry corner; At his meals he spits, at ev'ry meeting; At the bar he spits before the fathers; In the court he spits before the graces; In the church he spits, thus all profaning With that rude disease, that empty spitting: Yet no cost he spares, he sees the doctors, Keeps a strict diet, precisely useth Drinks and baths drying, yet all prevails not. 'Tis not China@1 (@3Lockly@1), @3Salsa Guacum, Nor dry Sassafras can help, or ease thee; 'Tis no humour hurts, it is thy humour.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH BATTLE OF BRITAIN by CECIL DAY LEWIS ON THE INFLATION OF THE CURRENCY, 1919 by ROBERT FROST BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |