Doctor Healey's Address To His Friends Poem by Samuel Bamford

Burning fever I defy,
Swollen dropsy, atrophy,
Agonizing pleurisy,
Soon shall flee before me:
Cholic, with its death so dire,
Madness, with its raging ire,
Anthony's consuming fire,
Never overbore me.

I can stay the tooth-ache pang,
Or extract a faded fang,
Straight or crooked, short or long,
Sure am I and safe too:
Ulcer foul, or eye so dim,
Bruised body, broken limb,
Rightly, tightly, I can trim,
And assist the deaf too.

Whilst the fair will ever find
Doctor Healey soft and kind,
Delicacy most refin'd,
They may sure depend on:
Dreaded measle, frightful pack,
Shrink if I but show my block;
Death recoils whene'er I knock;
Whom shall I attend on?