Yesterday the Zeus of stone from the doctor had a call - Though he's Zeus and though he's stone, yet today's his funeral

The physician who killed me, Neither bled, purge or pilled me, Nor counted my pulse but it comes to the same, In the height of my fever I thought of his name

From wine also perished the Centaur.

The gloom of death is on the raven's wing.

Though this be madness, yet there is method

To call a doctor an executioner is wrong.