Samuel Thomson and the Poetry
of Botanic Medicine, 1810-1860
Chapter 4
Regular Medicine
As Charles E. Rosenberg has so well explained, between the physician and the patient in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and early nineteenth centuries, there existed a texture of belief and behavior, of ideas and relationships, and of cause and metaphor, that explained both health and disease. Drawing upon a cosmology and a rationalistic system founded on the Hippocratic and Galenic understanding of the humors, physicians believed the body to be a "kind of stewpot, or chemico-vital reaction, proceeding calmly only if all its elements remained appropriately balanced." Not surprisingly, physicians and patients turned to the regulation of the body's secretions in an effort to ensure this balance. Thus bleeding, purging, vomiting (puking), and perspiring represented the mainstays of medical practice and of patient expectations. In this context, physicians prescribed drugs as a means of affecting the body's secretions and not as specifics for particular diseases; drugs advertised as disease specific were condemned as the work of quacks and empirics.
Samuel Thomson wrote these next several verses early in his career; they represent his unmistakable opinion of the learned physician's craft and choice of regimens.
RECEIPT TO CURE A CRAZY MAN |
Soon as the man is growing mad,
Send for the doctor--have him bled;
Take from his arm two quarts at least,
Nearly as much as kills a beast.
But if bad symptoms yet remain,
He then must tap another vein;
Soon as the doctor has him bled,
Then draw a blister on his head.
Next time he comes as it is said,
The blister'd skin takes from his head,
Then laud'num gives to ease his pain,
Till he can visit him again.
The doctor says he's so insane,
It must be dropsy on the brain;
To lay the heat while yet in bed,
A cap of ice lays on his head.
And lest the fever should take hold,
Then nitre gives to keep him cold,
And if distraction should remain,
He surely must be bled again.
The bowels now have silent grown,
The choledocus lost its tone,
He then bad humors to expel,
The jalap gives with calomel.
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The physic works you well must know,
Till he can neither stand nor go;
If any heat should still remain,
The lancet must be used again.
The man begins to pant for breath--
The doctor says he's struck with death;
All healing medicine is denied,
The bowels I fear are mortified.
Before he dies his senses come,
He bids them call his children home,
And tells his children and his wife,
That by a fool he'd lost his life.
They weep and mourn to see him go,
He bids adieu to all below;
Like martyr Stephen yields his breath,
Forgiving them who caused his death.
Soon as the man is dead and gone,
The doctor's charges then comes on;
For forty pounds the bill is made,
And by the executor is paid.
What sickness, sorrow, pain and woe,
The human family undergo,
By learned quacks who sickness make,
I fear for filthy lucre's sake.
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) lii |
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INGRATITUDE |
TEN miles from Boston is a town, liii
Where tyrants bear the sway;
Law, Physic and Divinity,
Blind subjects must obey.
A neighbor in this town was sick,
And helped without delay;
He then took cold, by which he died,
No Pope had he to pray.
Murder! the crafty doctor cry'd,
Manslaughter cried the Priest;
The lawyer published wide the news,
To hide the truth at least.
A brother of the dead was sick,
And brought near to death's door;
His wife the patent Med'cine used,
His health it did restore.
While he was sick, his neighbors raged,
And threatened up and down,
To mob his med'cine and his wife,
And drive them out of town.
You're a disgrace to every kind,
No savage can compare:
To mob the sick was never known,
By lion or the bear.
Those people like the hunter's dog,
The craft did not annoy,
As savages come like a mob,
Because they cried "stuboy."
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How much like good Samaritans,
These boasted freemen sound;
Raise mobs instead of oil and wine,
To heal their neighbor's wound.
Like puppies, these blind dupes must wait,
For the ninth day to come;
When truth's fair light shall break the veil,
And lead those captives home.
What use are scientific men,
In this enlightened day?
They are like foolish virgins' lamps,
To lead by night the way.
In all their conduct is displayed,
The three crafts close combined,
To take the people's rights away,
And not improve the mind.
Bell , Dagon, and the Dragon too,
These three crafts represent;
We must put down these idol gods,
For they're on mischief bent.
You're wicked craft, we have thus proved,
View your unhappy fate;
Pray God's forgiveness on your knees,
Before it is too late.
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) liv |
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MODERN PRACTICE |
Much horrid torture every day,
Among our neighbors we survey;
If done by Indians it would kill--
By learned doctors, it is skill.
The lancet's used to take the blood,
The poisonous merc'ry for our good;
They nitre give to kill the heat,
They tell the patient not to eat.
They opium give to ease the pain,
This kills in part, then live again,
To take the life which doth remain,
They then the lancet use again.
The blister's us'd to help distress,
And break the patient of his rest;
With setons lv they will tear the skin,
With physic clear what is within.
The tortured victim now must die,
The worms have killed him, is their cry,
Or else the time the Lord hath sent,
Our healing power can't death prevent.
This is the place some moderns fill,
Where one is cured there's ten they kill
We now presume to tell those tales,
That death's a cure that never fails.
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MERCURY--ARS'NIC--OPIUM too;
PHYSIC--BLISTERS--LANCE--
And all who use them we deny,
Excepting when we wish to die.
We know that bleeding causes death:
We bleed a beast to stop its breath;
The same is used to save man's life,
To ease his pain they take the knife.
Much as these moderns take man's blood,
So much his life goes in the flood!
If any life should yet remain,
They then the LANCET use again.
With ign'rant practices like these,
We may find many as we please;
And if all were at their command,
Men would be slain through the land.
We do distain their poisoning trade,
For better purposes we were made,
Thus to be bled, like beasts, to death,
Or poisoned rats to stop our breath.
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) lvi |
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The next two poems were written in similar tone to those of Thomson. They condemn the book-based education of regular doctors and decry the mineral poisons given instead of herbs.
RECIPE TO MAKE AN M.D. |
To a small share of common sense you'll add
Enough of pride to make him almost mad;
Then fill his head with antique, useless lore,
Until with learned nonsense it runs o'er.
Show him where muscles both begin and end,
How veins and arteries their courses wend;
Explain the bones, their number, situation,
How each to each bear intimate relation.
The nervous system, infinitely spread
Through every part of man, from toe to head;
Teach him well, with noisy tongue to clatter
'Tis nothing more than organized, dead matter.
Steal from the grave a dead man to dissect,
And let the law the wicked theft protect;
Give him the knife and every instrument,
And let him hack and carve till he's content.
And when he's grown so wondrous skill'd and wise,
Begin to praise and laud him to the skies;
Tell him since he has gain'd grave wisdom's name,
To deal with herbs and simples would be shame; |
He should most powerful poisons gather
To give his cred'lous patients; and the rather
'T would likely be more safe, excite men's wonder,
And save his credit, should he chance to blunder.
He should the mineral poisons concentrate,
To make grain doses answer for pound's weight,
And force it well into his learned head,
He's right, and only dealing with the dead;
Lest he espouse dame Nature's noble cause,
And leave dead lore for true and living laws,
Then let him learn how much 't will take to kill,
And know how much to give, and save his skill
Form being questioned: should his patient die,
He must look grave, and heave a deep drawn sigh,
And say with lying tongue, "Well, every thing was done,
But't was no use, the sands of life had run."
And when the earth had covered o'er his skill,
Must laugh within his sleeve and send his bill:--
When this is all well learn'd, he'll do for proctor
To plead the cause of Death and be Death's doctor.
(F. B.) lvii |
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STANZAS |
Away with the lancet, and away with the knife,
They are a curse like the rum from the still,
Away with the drugs that are with poison so rife,
Antimony, arsenic, and blue pill.
And mercury, too, it is the bane of our joy;
And opium, that narcotic most vile;
They will ruin our health, and our pleasure destroy,
And thus the hope of the physician beguile.
Away with your blisters, irritating they are,
Inflammation and pain they will produce,
And death oftentimes, and I am sure it is rare,
That to good health and long life they conduce.
Away with them all, and have nothing to do
With remedies so destructive to man;
It would be better, far better, to bid them adieu,
And let dame Nature restore if she can.
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When afflicted we are, and tormented with pain,
We have a balm that will work like a charm;
That will drive out disease from our bodily frame,
And assuredly do us no harm.
God in his goodness hath spread o'er nature's broad face,
Plants in abundance, domestic and wild,
And has caused them to grow for the good of our race,
For their maladies, malignant and mild.
And water he has given, sweet water and clean,
In the streamlets unceasingly to flow,
And in fountains pent up clear and sparkling is seen,
To which the unclean and thirsty may go.
To the innocent plant ye invalids repair,
And of its sanative virtues partake,
For Jehovah has planted a remedy there,
By which your pains you may alleviate.
(P.) lviii |
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Botanist S. R. Jones of Utica, Mississippi, dedicated this next poem to allopaths, homeopaths, nostrum venders, and their dupes and victims.
AWAY WITH YOUR QUACKERY! |
Away with your quack'ry! let freemen proclaim,
Too long have we borne its tyrannical sway,
We blush to reflect on its deeds and its name;
To oblivion drive it to rest in its shame:
Away with your quackery, away!
Away with your quackery! its blundering deeds,
The pen of a Curtis lix would fail to portray:
For pity, in vain, dying nature oft pleads,
When the doctor comes in, blisters, poisons and bleeds.
Away with your quackery, away!
Away with it! then, in our long lov'd abodes,
Shall health her fair pinions in gladness display,
Mercurial ulcers no longer corrode
And eat off the cheek bones;--new strength is bestow'd:
Away with your quackery, away!
Away with your quack'ry! yes, drive it afar!
Though prostrate beneath it our energies lay,
Yet hope, like a bright and glittering star,
Bids us raise them again, spite of lancet and war:
Away with your quack'ry, away!
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Away with it! aye, what a course it has led,
Spreading death in our land with its murd'rous array
Of blue pills, Dover 's powders, precipitate red,
Cantharides, calomel, opium and lead:
Away with your quack'ry, away!
Away with your quackery! O, freemen! arise,
Regain the good health you should all have to-day;
On! on to the rescue! nor heed its false cries--
Its poisons we hate, its vile drugs we despise:
Away with your quack'ry, away!
Away with your quack'ry! what deed has it done,
Around which the love of the people should play
What cure has it made? or what victory won
Over death and disease? Simple truth answers, NONE:
Away with your quack'ry, away!
Away with your quack'ry! let Thomson, the brave
And true son of science, take part in the fray;
With his steam and lobelia, and pepper, he'll save
Our land from the quacks, and their dupes from the grave:
Away with your quack'ry, away!
(S. R. Jones) lx |
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The anonymous author of the following poem challenges the reputation of schooled doctors, claiming that their actual accomplishments were far less significant than their reputation. In fact, as the doctors continued to perfect their art and practice with more schooling, the mortality rate of their patients increased.
THE DOCTOR METAMORPHOSED |
Who's the doctor? He that's often seen
Walking hasty o'er the village green;
Or through the town he on a fleet horse rides,
With medicines in post-bags by his side,
To visit sick--to epidemics, sorrows cure,
To conquer Death and make his sorrows fewer,
To cure all human ills that e'er were seen,
Coughs, colds, consumptions, and old women's spleen,
By pukes and purges, opiates and pills--
Thus through the country round he shows his skill;
He claims that by his art he thousands saves,
From all the gloomy horrors of the grave.
But there are some who seem to think this boast,
Is like one reckoning without his host;
For, though the doctor seems a present aid,
All men have died, e'er since the world was made.
The doctor's language when he drugs he gives,
'Take these, my patient, and they'll make you live!'
Is like what Satan spake to mother Eve,
Intended but to blind and to deceive:
For Satan said, 'Thou shalt not surely die!'
But time soon proved the serpent born to lie.
So never one, by all the doctors' aid,
Has an escape from life's destroyer made;
And life immortal here upon the earth,
Is but a name of what has ne'er had birth.
The ancient patriarchs led shepherds' lives,
In the wilderness, with flocks and wives; |
Though no physicians were then in the earth,
Yet they were strong and hearty from their birth,
Without a sickness to excite their fears,
Till they had lived almost one thousand years.
Thus, Adam, Seth, Methuselah and Noah
Lived to see nine hundred years or more.
But love of life at such an age
Still made men loath to leave time's transient stage;
And gath'ring roots and herbs, they thought by these
To cause the ravages of death to cease.
They studied these, their nature to discern,
And so some men the art of physic learned.
But then how soon the age of men we see
Was shortened down from hundreds nine to three;
And as the doctors' art and practice grew,
Three hundred years were shortened down to two;
And when more perfect had become his skill,
Man's age decreasing was made shorter still;
So that now, scarce three score years and ten
Are viewed to be the common age of men.
'Tis thus, the worth of physic here is shown,
In freeing man from life's turmoil and groans;
For, when the doctor shall perfect his trade,
We see an end of human life is made.
We now foresee, but shall not see it then,
Because extinct will be the race of men;
And o'er the earth the savage beasts of prey,
Where man rules now, will hold a kingly sway.
(Anonymous) lxi |
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The next several poems have calomel (mercurous chloride) as their theme. Long the mainstay of regular practice, calomel acted as a flash point between regular and reform medicine.
CALOMEL |
Physicians of the highest rank
(To pay their fees we need a bank,)
Combine all wisdom, art and skill,
Science and sense, in Calomel.
Since Calomel's become their toast,
How many patients have they lost--
How many thousands do they kill,
Or poison with their Calomel.
Howe'er their patients may complain,
Of head, or heart, or nerve, or vein,
Of fever high, or parch, or swell,
The remedy is Calomel.
When Mr. A. or B. is sick--
"Go fetch the doctor, and be quick"--
The doctor comes, with much good will,
But ne'er forgets his Calomel.
He takes his patient by the hand,
And compliments him as a friend;
He sits a while his pulse to feel,
And then takes out his Calomel.
He then turns to the patient's wife,
Have you clean paper, spoon, and knife?
I think your husband might do well
To take a dose of Calomel.
He then deals out the fatal grains--
"This, Ma'am, I'm sure will ease his pains;
Once in three hours, at sound of bell,
Give him a dose of Calomel."
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He leaves his patient in her care,
And bids good-bye, with graceful air:--
In hopes bad humors to expel,
She freely gives the Calomel.
The man grows worse, quite fast indeed--
"Go call for counsel--ride with speed"--
The counsel comes, like post with mail,
Doubling the dose of Calomel.
The man in death begins to groan--
The fatal job for him is done;
His soul is wing'd for heaven or hell--
A sacrifice to Calomel.
The funeral charges must be paid,
And under ground the body laid,
The lawyer executes the will,
And pays the charge for Calomel.
Hydrarg. lxii now plays its deadly game,
Since Calomel has lost its name;
And does the fatal work fulfill,
As faithfully as Calomel.
Physicians of my former choice,
Receive my counsel and advice;
Be not offended though I tell
The dire effects of Calomel.
And when I must resign my breath,
Pray let me die a natural death,
And bid you all a long farewell,
Without hydrarg. or Calomel.
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) lxiii |
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UNTITLED |
I'm an object of pity; come, hear me relate;
My hist'ry is mournful, and so is my fate!
I'm a dealer in calomel; this you know well;
But now I'm distracted like demons in hell!
I had a large practice, and that you all know;
Was called in an instant to see friend or foe;
Whate'er I prescribed, they all cried it was skill,
But now I'm rejected, my honor's to kill!
To remedy this, like a mad-man I went--
To slay the botanics, was all my intent--
But how I'm afflicted, no pen can describe:
Whatever I aimed at, was all set aside!
I called out my forces, and on did I go--
I appeared with the great, the high and the low;
My aim was destruction--I failed all at once;
The people concluded I was but a dunce.
Disgraced in this manner, I could not be still;
I must have been hurried by my own self will;
An inquest I called, then within a few miles,
To see what had caused the sad death of a child.
On commencing our business, it went very brave;
In spite of its parents, we tore open the grave,
The corpse bore to the house, with knives in our hands,
At dissecting to go, without leave or commands.
On the table we laid it, a block 'neath its head,
And said we had courage to cut up the dead;
But when we examined, we found with surprise,
The body quite natural appeared to our eyes.
My sorrows increased, we were all ordered down!
The Jury decided 'twas best for the town;
In spite of my efforts, they sent it away
To the place of internment in which it once lay.
I was by afflictions then quickly assailed;
In all my endeavors, I found I had failed;
But few would assist me, and those far away:
I mounted my pony, and southward did stray:
I called a new Jury, not those I had first;
My madness and fury filled all with disgust;
Determined I came, if it lay in my power,
To raise up the child that very same hour.
The proof we obtained was no more than the first;
Each witness was sworn and put to the test;
The child, it appeared by the proof that was given,
Died natural, and then was rejoicing in Heaven.
But this did not answer--I could not rest here;
'Twas further invested, to make it appear,
That the death of the child had been caused by him,
Whose dose was the size of the "head of a pin."
The Coroner ordered the corpse to be brought,
In a moment before them, to see what they thought;
They went to the grave, where in peace it had laid,
And moved back the earth by the help of the spade.
The grave was quite empty, and nothing was found
Of the corpse that once laid there all cover'd with ground
Some person had watched it and borne it away,
Although but an infant, and nothing but clay.
For the sake of its mother, grieved almost to death,
Like Moses they hid it, to save it from theft:
The court then consulted what course they should take
To settle the business that happened of late,
And nothing was proved but what 'twas all right,
The Jury retired, although it was night;
So I was not easy, but baffled again;
It was feared my many, I'd crack my weak brain.
But still I resolved that I would have revenge,
If it cost me much money and time in the end;
I saw the effects my bad conduct had made,
Resolved on new measures, while trembling with rage;
I saw the Botanics in business all round;
The people employ them in every town,
And half my affliction I have not told here;
I've entered a combat with millions, I fear.
And if I'm defeated, I'm sure I shall fall,
Like a demon distracted, and that is not all;
Let me think a moment--it was a quick move,
I watched all their movements, although not in love.
They well understood, let me do what I would,
They saw my intentions, that they were not good;
I called them quite ignorant, for I didn't then know;
But I find my mistake now wherever I go.
When the Cholera was raging last summer in town,
The Botanics were called and obtained great renown;
To physic and bleed, I told them was right--
To give calomel and opium to lull them at night;
But O how mistaken I found I had been,
When I cut up a negro at Utica Inn;
I closely examined and published all around,
The disease must come up and not driv'n down.
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[If the Cholera again should visit our land,
I shall then appear with my remedies in hand;
Such as bonset, opium and the blue pill,
The cramps to allay, and the spasms to quell;
The rectum I propose to close up with wax,
Considering this the arcana or great climax,
While the world shall proclaim my wonderful skill;
Thus I shall proceed my pockets to fill.]
So to sweating I went with my thorough-wort tea;
By the help of that practice, I saved two or three;
My patients had died in vast numbers before;
In spite of my skill they fell dead on the floor;
But when I insisted that sweating was good,--
My rivals had spoken the truth as they should--
The people believed me and choose whom they pleas'd
And found the botanics could cure the disease;
But still I persisted in blinding their eyes;
That the good mineral medicine none should despise;
It was brought from old Eng. where learning's great,
You must take our good medicine if death is your fate.
The medicine of our country you never could know,
As it grows on our hills and valleys below;
We had much better buy it, imported, so cheap,
Than to use our own medicine found at our feet;
But I could say, they would not believe,
That mineral medicine oft would relieve;
The botanics were called on by night and by day;
Wherever I went they were found in my way.
Now what shall I do for my business is dull;
To fight the botanics, 'twill crack my old skull;
I'm wholly discouraged, 'twill crush me at last,
I see I am going, and that very fast.
Can you my dear brothers, my folly forgive?
A wretch that has ruined you all I believe;
I have helped the botanics in all I have done,
I have seen their prosperity, O how do I groan.
Our system is rotten, 'twill tumble at last;
The petitions we sent were no help to our craft;
I've tried to be active in slandering their cause,
Resorted at last to our own civil laws.
Where'er I have met them, I've found a repulse,
Too dreadful to mention; I'm almost convulsed;
I thought I should conquer, the laurel should wear,
But the thought of my fortune I hardly can bear.
[I found me afflicted with a sore disease,
Which took off my child, my wife did not please;
She often distrusted my honor before;
She caught me to sleek by the meal on the floor.]
I've often regretted I'd not been more sly;
It will almost kill me, I think I shall die;
I called on my neighbors to know what to do
With all the botanics, the old elder too;
But I fear I have missed it, as many do say;
I'd better repent and be learning to pray;
But repenting and praying, O how can I do:
Let others repent now, and pray for me too.
It's but a small chance that I have to escape;
I feel like a man that has committed a rape.
Young doctors take warning, who sit by my side;
In spite of your learning, botanics will ride.
If you meet with botanics, remember poor me,
And never oppose them, but with them agree;
If you can find friends, and prosper awhile,
Treat well the botanics, and heaven will smile;
But if you continue the truth to despise,
The Devil will have you, although in disguise;
The subject is serious; I feel it of late;
If I'm not relieved soon, my heart will surely break.
My medicine don't sell, I've much upon hand;
And most people think it's no better than bran,
My bleeding and blistering I fear is quite done;
I hav'nt much practice--they spoil all my run.
If I find no more business, I'll hasten away,
And never will stop till I arrive at Green Bay;
And if the steam doctors pursue me out there,
I'll hang up my pill bags--turn tanner by Gar.
If that won't support me, I'll again take a walk
A little further west and unite with Black Hawk;
There in the wild desert, I'll ever remain;
I'm sure the steam doctors won't trouble me again.
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) lxiv |
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ODE TO HEALTH |
"Hail the blest day that bids us rise
To value wealth, and health to prize;
And follow natures noble son,
And all the mineral poisons shun:
That day, that bids us look and see,
The source, the cause of misery,
Which yet is held, and yet maintain'd,
Although it has its thousands slain.
"Hail it yet sons who well can test,
By pains, and aches, and life distress'd,
And looks far more than words can tell,
The horrid use of calomel;
Who now are taught your lands and fields,
For all your pains a blessing yields;
Who now are warn'd and now are shown,
To leave the poisons all alone.
"Hail it ye fathers, hail it mothers,
Hail it sisters, hail it brothers,
And all that's dear to you--O tell
To leave alone this calomel.
Free of charge the Almighty Hand
Hath sown in this our happy land,
the roots, and herbs, that stand so free,
A soothing balm--a remedy."
(Dr. Samuel Thomson) lxv
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CALOMEL |
Who can limn thee in colors true,
Thou hydra-headed fiend?
Who, show the half that thou canst do?
Who, with thy power contend?
As o'er the land thou stalk'st in wrath,
To mark the carnage in thy path,
"It seems as if the final doom
For man's apostate race had come!"
Dread Simon's fell, and withering blast,
Sweeping the desert wide,--
Or Lava, bubbling hot and fast
Adown the mountain's side,--
Each rushing in impetuous force,
In less destructive in its course--
Is harmless, when compared with thee,
Foul source of half earth's misery.
The sparkling bowl, gay devotee,
Invokes a dreadful fate,--
On him who trusteth aught in thee
Far greater evils wait!
See! o'er all quarters of the earth
A tot'ring troop go stag'ring forth,
Composed of youth and grey-haired men
Who never can health know again!
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Soldier, place thy sword in its sheath,
And leave the tented ground;
Another does the work of death--
Inflicts a deeper wound:--
Ay, deep is the wound he gives in strife,
And the victim feels the pain through life!
Oh! he is more effective far,
Than are embattled hosts at war!
Monster! forever from our sight,
Fleeing before Botanic light,
Descend to kindred shades of night!
(G. A. B.) lxvi |
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AN ODE
(Sung to "The Morning Light is Breaking.") |
Rise up, rise up, Reformers,
And from our land expel,
That foe to human comfort,
That death drug, Calomel.
Send forth your declaration,
And to the conflict tend,
A suffering world's salvation
On your success depend.
Too long have doctors fed us
With nauseating pills,
And blistered us, and bled us,
To cure our many ills.
But oh! what woe and sorrow
And pain they've left behind,
A ruined constitution,
A weak, desponding mind.
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Earth's sons and blooming daughters,
From time to time have fell,
And our grey-headed fathers,
Victims to Calomel.
And who can think unweeping,
On scenes with gloom so rife;
How doleful, how appalling,
Such sacrifice of life.
Firm be your hearts, resolving
To fight truth's battle well,
And cast from our dominions,
That moloch, Calomel.
On, onward! ne'er despairing,
For error, sure, will quail;
Your motto, loud declaring,
"Truth mighty shall prevail."
(Anonymous) lxvii
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CALOMEL |
Hear ye while I attempt to tell,
The wondrous works of Calomel,
Whate'er disease, has man befell,
The doctors deal out calomel.
A bully beat his friends pell mell,
The doctor gave him calomel,
It heated his wounds; O! hear me tell,
The wondrous cures of Calomel.
Jack dislocated his left heel,
The doctors dosed with calomel,
The heel was fixed, then hear me tell,
What things were done by calomel.
Jack broke his leg--what then befell,
Why he too swallowed calomel;
It set the bones in tune so well,
This wondrous working calomel.
The young, the old, the good the fell,
Cured in a trice by calomel,
Did all declare that every ill,
Might be removed by calomel.
A man is sick--the doctors tell
He comes and gives him calomel;
The man grows worse, is very ill,
The doctor gives more calomel.
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The man is dead and some will tell,
The poor man died by calomel;
The man grows worse, is very ill,
The doctor gives more calomel.
The man is dead and some will tell,
The poor man died by calomel,
'Tis slander foul, then hear me tell,
He died in spite of calomel.
But times have changed, it hath befell,
That all don't credit calomel;
As a cure all; and so they tell,
That many die by calomel.
And yet there is a final ill,
Which can't be cured by calomel;
All men must die, the scriptures tell,
When only fails this calomel.
It cannot save a soul from hell,
Nor death at last--e'ne Calomel.
(F. Morgan) lxviii |
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A REGULAR DOCTOR'S SOLILOQUY |
"Alas, alas, how blind I've been!"
How little of my error seen,
My prejudice;--ah! few can tell
How strong it's been for Calomel.
For opium, Spanish flies and blood,
And advocate I've boldly stood;
Have strove with all my might, to quell
The hue and cry 'gainst calomel:
Called Doctors quacks of every grade,
Save such as M.D.'s had been made,
And so kept out the alluring spell--
"The great cure-all is calomel."
Whene'er my patients I have lost,
Thus have I counted well the cost--
"The Lord is good--does all things well;"
" He takes away--not calomel. "
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But when Thomsonian patients die,
I then put forth the doleful cry;--
" Steam and Lobelia life expel"--
"A great specific calomel! "
Now this is wrong, for conscience stings,
And inward struggles daily brings:
I'm half resolved no more to dwell
In faith and hope with Calomel.
With poisons all I glad would part,
Use roots and herbs with all my heart,
But bear my friends with rage will swell,
If I abandon calomel.
Therefore both systems I'll befriend,
To practice both will condescend,
So, when I hear a funeral knell,
The cause shall not be calomel.
(Anonymous) lxix |
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SOLILOQUY OF AN M.D. |
A doctor once was taken sick,
With fever high, his pulse was quick;
And as he lay upon his bed,
With feeble, faltering voice he said--
Lo I am here in feeble state,
My fever's high, my pains are great,
Yet in my books I cannot find
A medicine that's to my mind.
If calomel I dared to take,
My constitution it would break,
If ipecac and jalap too,
'Twould be the worst think I could do.
I've pills and powders by the peck,
But these my fever would not check--
And blisters too, I might apply,
But 'twere no use--my blood they'd dry--
Again, the lancet I might use,
But then I have no blood to lose.
I always antimony keep,
And laudanum, to make me sleep,
And many nostrums I might mention,
To take which is not my intention.
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What shall I do? what shall I do?
The doctor then did cry;
I must have some relief, and soon,
Or surely I must die.
And thus he lay from day to day,
His fever raging still--
He knew not how to cure himself,
Although he had the will.
At length his mind grew very weak,
More terrible his ills,
He grew more feeble every day,
For why? He took his Pills!
Days past. His eyes began to close,
His friends were standing round--
He took another dose--and soon
Was six feet under ground.
(Normus) lxx |
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CALOMEL
Law--not science--the safeguard of Mineral Doctors. |
Old Calomel the people hate
And soon they will decide his fate:
With aches and pains he fills their bones,
And causes many doleful moans.
His victims writhe beneath his pow'r,
And fondly court the dying hour,
To free them from the iron grasp
Of poison, fatal as the asp.
With indigestion--awful load--
They drag along a dreary road--
With stiffen'd limbs, and rotten teeth--
With foul and pestilential breath.
With minds imbecile as a child--
With mania running almost wild--
With ulcers foul as those of Job,
They wear the leper's scaly robe.
The Inquisition's pains they feel,
Without Samaria 's son to heal;
They never get the oil and wine,
Unmix'd with baneful anodyne.
Their nervous systems rack'd with pain,
Are on old Moloch's altar lain;
The bloody lancet there is pli'd,
And vital forces stand aside.
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If any fears do still remain,
That patient should revive again,
And on the fam'd Lobelia call,
And use a little steam withal;
The Doctors then the people love;
Their bowels with compassion move;
They say: "Dear neighbors do be wise;
For your relief we'll soon devise.
The steamers! they are naught but quacks,
An ingn'rant set of stupid jacks;
On their delusion you should frown,
And then we soon could put them down.
On law-legs we have always stood,
And by that means have gain'd our food;
Lobelia's pow'r has spoil'd our legs,
And now we stand on rotten pegs.
Our System, too, is on the wane,
And can't in triumph rise again,
Unless the statute is reviv'd,
Whereby we long securely liv'd.
Our Legislators you must pray,
To grant us hopes of lengthen'd day,
To make our law that we can ride--
Then won't we look GENTEEL? [aside.]
(Z. Huzzey) lxxi |
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UNTITLED |
Oh! had I wit and words at will,
How I might exercise quill!
To treat of lotion, potion, pill,
Of drops and drachms, of dose and gill;
Of blister, glister, drench and swill,
For every patient well or ill--
Of mortar, crucible and mill,
Of lancet, pulican lxxii and drill,
Of mercury, tartar and squill;
And all the noxious drugs that fill
The items of an M.D.'s bill.
While faith and charms and myst'ry, still,
With little practice and less skill,
Cure all that poison fails to kill.
Their worst luck can't be so very ill,
Since misfortunes their purses fill.
(Dr. Isaac A. Parker) lxxiii |
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Troubled by the harsh treatments given to Presidents Washington and Harrison by the old school doctors, Richard J. Duke of Virginia penned this poem in the hope that people would prevent their friends and loved ones from an early grave.
THE DEEDS OF ALLOPATHY
The Bible says, "Blood is the life,"
Oh, use not then the dreadful knife
To draw life's crimson flood away,
But cause the murderous hand to stay.
Give not your children calomel,
Or soon you'll toll their funeral knell;
Of laud'num, too, be well aware,
To children it's a deadly snare.
(Richard J. Duke) lxxiv
lii. Samuel Thomson, "Receipt to Cure a Crazy Man," in Samuel Thomson, An Earnest Appeal to the Public, Showing the Misery Caused by the Fashion ab le Mode of Practice of the Doctors at the Present Day; With the Fatal Effects of Using Poisons as Medicine, and the Advantages of Following the Course Pointed Out by Nature; Using Such Things Only as are the Veget ab le Productions of Our Own Country (Boston: Printed for the Author by E.G. House, 1824), 33-34.
liii. Refers to Cambridge , home of Harvard University .
liv. Samuel Thomson, "Ingratitude," in Cyrus Thomson (comp.), Learned Quackery Exposed; Or, Theory According to Art, as Exemplified in the Practice of the Honor ab le Doctors of the Present Day (Syracuse: Lathrop and Dean, Printers, 1843), 10-11.
lv. From the Latin seta, bristle, and formed by means of a portion of a skein of silk passed under the skin in order to excite suppuration.
lvi. Samuel Thomson, "Modern Practice," in Cyrus Thomson (comp.), Learned Quackery Exposed; Or, Theory According to Art, as Exemplified in the Practice of the Honorable Doctors of the Present Day (Syracuse: Lathrop and Dean, Printers, 1843), 16-17.
lvii. F.B., "Recipe to Make and M.D.," Boston Thomsonian Manual and Lady's Companion, VI (March 1, 1840), 125.
lviii. P., "Stanzas," The Thomsonian Medical and Physiological Journal, I (May 1, 1846), 232-3.
lix. Refers to Alva Curtis of Cincinnati, one of the leaders of the Independent Thomsonians.
lx. S.R. Jones, "Away with your Quackery," Botanico-Medical Recorder, XIV (September 12, 1846), 310.
lxi. Anonymous, "The Doctor Metamorphosed," Poughkeepsie Thomsonian, IV (February 15, 1842), 132. Reprinted from the Green Mountain Emporium.
lxii. Hydrargyrum, better known as mercury or quicksilver was one of the seven metals known to the ancients and furnished one of the most important agents used in medical practice, among which were the blue pill, grey powder, calomel, red precipitate, blue ointment, and corrosive sublimate.
lxiii. (Samuel Thomson), "Calomel," in Samuel Thomson, An Earnest Appeal to the Public, Showing the Misery Caused by the Fashion ab le Mode of Practice of the Doctors at the Present Day; With the Fatal Effects of Using Poisons as Medicine, and the Advantages of Following the Course Pointed Out by Nature; Using Such Things Only as are the Veget ab le Productions of Our Own Country (Boston: Printed for the Author by E.G. House, 1824), 34-36.
lxiv. Samuel Thomson, "Untitled," in Cyrus Thomson (comp.), Learned Quackery Exposed; Or, Theory According to Art, as Exemplified in the Practice of the Honor ab le Doctors of the Present Day (Syracuse: Lathrop and Dean, 1843), 2-6.
lxv. Samuel Thomson, "Ode to Health," in Cyrus Thomson (comp.), Learned Quackery Exposed; Or, Theory According to Art, as Exemplified in the Practice of the Honor ab le Doctors of the Present Day (Syracuse: Lathrop and Dean, Printers, 1843), 55-56.
lxvi. G.A.B., "Calomel," Boston Thomsonian Manual and Lady's Companion, VI (January 15, 1840), 79-80.
lxvii. Anonymous, "An Ode," The Boston Thomsonian Medical and Physiological Journal, I (April 1, 1846), 193.
lxviii. F. Morgan, "Calomel," Botanico-Medical Recorder, XIII (June 21, 1845), 249.
lxix. Anonymous, "A Regular Doctor's Soliloquy," Thomsonian Messenger, II (November, 1842), 33.
lxx. Normus, "Soliloquy of an M.D.," The Boston Thomsonian Medical and Physiological Journal, I (May 1, 1846), 225-26.
lxxi. Z. Huzzey, "Calomel," Botanico-Medical Recorder, XII (September 7, 1844), 347.
lxxii. An instrument used in extracting teeth.
lxxiii. Dr. Isaac A. Parker, "Untitled," Southern Botanic Journal, I (July 22, 1837), 207.
lxxiv. Richard J. Duke, "The Deeds of Allopathy," Botanico-Medical Recorder, XV (April 10, 1847), 118.
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