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| EXCELLENT herbs had our fathers of old— | |
| Excellent herbs to ease their pain— | |
| Alexanders and Marigold, | |
| Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane. | |
| Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue, | 5 |
| (Almost singing themselves they run) | |
| Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you— | |
| Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun. | |
| Anything green that grew out of the mould | |
| Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old. | 10 |
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| Wonderful tales had our fathers of old | |
| Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars— | |
| The Sun was Lord of the Marigold, | |
| Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars. | |
| Pat as a sum in division it goes— | 15 |
| (Every herb had a planet bespoke)— | |
| Who but Venus should govern the Rose? | |
| Who but Jupiter own the Oak? | |
| Simply and gravely the facts are told | |
| In the wonderful books of our fathers of old. | 20 |
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| Wonderful little, when all is said, | |
| Wonderful little our fathers knew. | |
| Half their remedies cured you dead— | |
| Most of their teaching was quite untrue— | |
| “Look at the stars when a patient is ill, | 25 |
| (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,) | |
| Bleed and blister as much as you will, | |
| Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.” | |
| Whence enormous and manifold | |
| Errors were made by our fathers of old. | 30 |
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| Yet when the sickness was sore in the land, | |
| And neither planets nor herbs assuaged, | |
| They took their lives in their lancet-hand | |
| And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged! | |
| Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door— | 35 |
| (Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,) | |
| Excellent courage our fathers bore— | |
| Excellent heart had our fathers of old. | |
| None too learned, but nobly bold | |
| Into the fight went our fathers of old. | 40 |
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| If it be certain, as Galen says— | |
| And sage Hippocrates holds as much— | |
| “That those afflicted by doubts and dismays | |
| Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,” | |
| Then, be good to us, stars above! | 45 |
| Then, be good to us, herbs below! | |
| We are afflicted by what we can prove, | |
| We are distracted by what we know— | |
| So—ah, so! | |
| Down from your heaven or up from your mould, | 50 |
| Send us the hearts of our fathers of old! | |
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