Lonsdale Magazine (1820)

Luckless is he whom hard fate urges on 
To practice as a country surgeon; 
To drag a heavy galling chain 
The slave of all for paltry gain; 
To ride, regardless of all weather 
Through frost, and snow, and hail together; 
To smile and bow when sick and tir'd; 
Consider'd as a servant hired; 
At every quarter of the compass, 
A surly patient makes a rumpus, 
Because he is not seen the first, 
(For each man thinks his case the worst) 
And often at two points diametric 
Call'd to a business obstetric. 
Then here's a man, with broken limb, 
A lady here with nervous whim, 
Who at the acme of her fever, 
Calls him a savage if he leaves her 
For days and nights in some lone cottage, 
Condemn'd to live on crusts and pottage, 
To kick his heels and spin his brains 
Waiting forsooth for labour pains, 
And, that job over, happy he 
If he squeeze out a guinea fee 
Then worn like culprit on the wheel, 
He sits him down to hasty meal; 
He sits - when lo! A patient comes 
With rotten tooth and putrid gums; 
The doctor takes his dentist-tools, 
Fixes the screw, and tugs and pulls, 
His dinner cools, his hands this mess in, 
All for a shilling or a blessing, 
Now comes the night, with toil opprest, 
He seeks his bed in hope of rest; 
Vain hope, his slumbers are no more, 
Loud sounds the knocker at the door. 
A farmer's wife at ten miles distance, 
Groaning calls for his assistance; 
Fretting and fuming in the dark, 
He in the tinder strikes a spark,
And as he yawning heaves his breeches,
Envies his neighbour blessed with riches. 

[Note:This revives old memories! - Ed.]

Published in Mourholme Magazine Issue 39 2000