Th’re were two wise physicians once, of glory and renown,
Who went to take a little walk nigh famous Concord town.
Oh! very, very great and wise and learned men were they,
And wise and learned was th’r talk, as they walked on th’r way.
And as they walked and talked and talked, they came to wh’re they found
A Crow as black as any hat, a-sitting on ye ground.
Ye Crow was very, very sick, as you may quickly see
By just looking at ye picture th’t is drawn h’re by me.
Now wh’n ye doctors came to him they mended of th’r pace,
And said one unto ye other, “H’re’s an interesting case,
A case th’t sh’ld be treated, and be treated speedily.
I have–yes, here it is–a pill th’t has been made by me.
Now, I have had occasion–” Said ye other, “In most cases
Your pills are excellently good, but h’re, my friend, are traces
Of a lassitude, a languor, th’t your pills c’ld hardly aid;
In short, they’re rather violent for th’s, I am afraid.
I have a tincture–” Said ye first, “Your tincture cannot touch
A case as difficult as th’s, my pills are better much.”
“Your pills, sir, are too violent.” “Your tonic is too weak.”
“As I have said, sir, in th’s case–” “Permit me, sir, to speak.”
And so they argued long and high, and on, and on, and on,
Until they lost their tempers, and an hour or more had gone.
But long before their arguments ye question did decide,
Ye Crow, not waiting for ye end, incontinently died.