'If wishes were horses'—I've heard when a girl—
'If wishes were horses, the beggars would ride'—
If wishes were pheasants, I'd wish with a skirl
Till cooked ones came flying and sat by my side.

A fig, then, for doctors, their tinctures and drugs;
Good eating would cure me, with plenty of game;
And as for pill boxes, and bottles, and jugs,
I wouldn't know one, when I saw it, by name.

Oh, dear! such a load now my stomach oppresses,
While eating these trifles, attempting to dine—
I'm sure 'taint the turkey—it must be my dresses—
And if so 't will ease them to sip sherry wine.

'Tis sad, though, to be such a sad invalid—
Dear me, Colonel Dinewell, you've done eating meat—
Your doctor, like mine, I hope hasn't forbid,
That you shouldn't have, as I do, so little to eat.
Ah! well then, I see, though I've hardly begun,
The meats and the solids must go right away;
So bring in the pudding, if Susan's got one,
Which will for a while one's appetite stay.