They’ve got a new man down hyere
At Mason’s Cove, thet’s young
An’ got a heap o’ I’amln’
An’ quite a ‘ily tongue.
I’ve nothin’ no-way ‘ginst him.
But tell ye when I ‘m sick
I want old Dr. Milspaugh,
An’ I want him mighty quick!
He’s doctored all my fambly
For sixty year, ye know.
An’ when he could n’t cure us
He never told us so!
He never gave a case up
Like doctors sometimes do,
But let us die a-hopin’
Thet we was pullin’ through.
‘N’ most I like about him
Is that he never tries
New-fangled drugs upon ye.
Like some thet ain’t so wise.
No differ what ‘s your yailment.
He’ll give ye calermel;
Ef thet don’t work he’ll dose ye
With quinine fer a spell.
Thar ain’t no form o’ sickness
Thet ever showed itse’f
Inside o’ mortal critters,
Enj’yin’ mortal breaf.
But what old Doc kin spot It
An’ call the thing by name,
Like he was blood-kin to it
An’ knowed fom whar it came.
He’s hand-in-glove with fevers,
‘N’ when he strikes a sprain
He’s jest like he was sayin’
“Well, hyere ye are again!”
An’ even Death don’t feaze him —
He knows it, branch an’ roots,
So well ye ’bout ‘ud reckon
They both was in cahoots.
An’ bein’ he ‘s so po’rful,
Ef ever I’m took sick,
‘S I say, I want old Doctor,
‘N’ I want him middlin’ quick!
‘F my time’s come, naught can save me;
Ef it ain’t, why then old Doc
‘Ull fetch me round a-hummin’
An’ gritty ez a rock.
By: Eva Wilder McGlasson
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