Lyr. Add: ANYBODY ILL?

I am a learned surgeon, and my name is Doctor Quack,
My draughts and pills, to cure your ills, I carry on my back,
My med'cines are the nastiest that ever cured a pain,
If once you've tasted them I know you'd ne'er be ill again.

Chorus:
Then oh, my! Anybody ill, anybody ill,
Anybody ill, oh my Hi!
I'm Doctor Quack, quack, quack-a-ka-quack,I cure you of any attack,
I've syrup of squills and I've camomile pills,
And my name is Doctor Quack.

I've lotions for the measles and I've powders for the croup.
I cure the girls of whooping cough by taking off their hoop,
My plaisters are so very strong, they draw out all your teeth,
And last week drew a ton of coals from here to Hampstead Heath.

I've pills for the complexion if you rub it in at night,
If you've been red as beetroot, in the morning you'll be white,
They'll cure a smoky fire and take away the kettle's boil,
They're made of railway grease and soap, Dutch cheese and castor oil.

I've got a syrup you can take for tooth ache in the nose,
I've powders for a wooden arm, and pills for timber toes.
I stop the mouths of scolding wives, their double teeth I draw,
I clap a padlock on their tongues which makes them hold their jaw.

I've ointment for a mother-in-law, she swallows half a pound,
She'll never trouble you again for she will sleep so sound,
Who'll have a gross of leeches? Shall I put them on your back?
You won't- then he must go elsewhere to trade, must Doctor Quack.

I've heard a doctor sing this to MacNamara's Band, and do the chorus with a little music hall-minstrel hop. Quite funny.

Bodleian Library, printed by R. March, 1881-1884, Firth b.28(4a/b)