The Annual Pill.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Supposed to be sung by OLD PROSY, the Jew, in the character of Major CARTWRIGHT.


Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill,
Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay?
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let ma say vat I vill,
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say.
'Tis so pretty a bolus!--just down let it go,
And, at vonce, such a radical shange you vill see,
Dat I'd not be surprished, like de horse in de show,
If your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh ought to be!
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, etc.

'Twill cure all Electors and purge away clear
Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir hands--
'Twill cure too all Statesmen of dulness, ma tear,
Tho' the case vas as desperate as poor Mister VAN'S.
Dere is noting at all vat dis Pill vill not reach--
Give the Sinecure Ghentleman van little grain,
Pless ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de leech,
And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, up again!
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, etc.

'Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to paint--
"But, among oder tings fundamentally wrong,
It vill cure de Proad Pottom[1]--a common complaint
Among M.P.'s and weavers--from sitting too long.
Should symptoms of speeching preak out on a dunce
(Vat is often de case), it vill stop de disease,
And pring avay all de long speeches at vonce,
Dat else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees!

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill,
Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay?
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill,
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say!