RHUBARB PILL.—Now, friends and neighbours, now’s your time for getting rid of all your complaints, whether of the pocket or the person, for I, Rhubarb Pill, professor of sophistry and doctorer of laws, have now come amongst you with my old and infallible remedies and restoratives, which, although they have not already worked wonders, I promise shall do so, and render the constitution sound and vigorous, however it may have been injured by poor-law-bill-ious pills, cheap bread, and black sugar, prescribed by wooden-headed quacks. (Aside.) Balaam, blow the trumpet. BALAAM (blows).—Too-too-tooit! Hurrah for the doctor! RHUBARB PILL.—These infallible remedies have been in my possession since the years 1835 and 1837, but owing to the opposition of the Cabinet of Physicians, I have not been able to use them for the benefit of the public—and myself. (Bows.) These invaluable remedies— COUNTRYMAN.—What be they? RHUBARB PILL.—That’s not a fair question—wait till I’m regularly called in11. Sir Robert Peel at Tamworth.. It’s not that I care about the fee—mine is a liberal profession, and though I have a large family, and as many relations as most people, I really think I should refuse a guinea if it was offered to me. COUNTRYMAN.—Then why doant’ee tell us? RHUBARB PILL.—It’s not professional. Besides, it’s quite requisite that I should “feel the patient’s pulse,” or I might make the dose too powerful, and so— COUNTRYMAN.—Get the sack, Mr. Doctor. RHUBARB PILL (aside).—Blow the trumpet, Balaam. BALAAM.—Too-too-tooit—tooit-too-too! RHUBARB PILL.—And so do more harm than good. Besides, I should require to have the “necessary consultations” over the dinner-table. Diet does a great deal—not that I care about the “loaves and fishes”—but patients are always more tractable after a good dinner. Now there’s an old lady in these parts— COUNTRYMAN.—What, my old missus? RHUBARB PILL.—The same. She’s in a desperate way. COUNTRYMAN.—Ees. Dr. Russell says it’s all owing to your nasty nosdrums. RHUBARB PILL.—Doctor Russell’s a—never mind. I say she is very bad, and I AM the only man that can cure her. COUNTRYMAN—Then out wi’it, doctor—what will? RHUBARB PILL.—Wait till I’m regularly called in. COUNTRYMAN.—But suppose she dies in the meantime? RHUBARB PILL.—That’s her fault. I won’t do anything by proxy. I must direct my own administration, appoint my own nurses for the bed-chamber, have my own herbalists and assistants, and see Doctor Russell’s “purge” thrown out of the window. In short, I must be regularly called in. Balaam, blow the trumpet. [Balaam blows the trumpet, the crowd shout, and the Doctor bows gracefully, with one hand on his heart and the other in his breeches pocket. At the end of the applause he commences singing]. I am called Doctor Pill, the political quack, And a quack of considerable standing and note; I’ve clapp’d many a blister on many a back, And cramm’d many a bolus down many a throat,