________________________________________________
Title: The Wellington Spa
Author: Thomas Moore [
More Titles by Moore]
"And drink _oblivion_ to our woes."
Anna Matilda.
1829.
Talk no more of your Cheltenham and Harrowgate springs,
'Tis from _Lethe_ we now our potations must draw;
Yon _Lethe_'s a cure for--all possible things,
And the doctors have named it the Wellington Spa.
Other physical waters but cure you in part;
_One_ cobbles your gout--_t'other_ mends your digestion--
Some settle your stomach, but _this_--bless your heart!--
It will settle for ever your Catholic Question.
Unlike too the potions in fashion at present,
This Wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth,
So purges the memory of all that's unpleasant,
That patients _forget_ themselves into rude health.
For instance, the inventor--his having once said
"He should think himself mad if at _any one's_ call,
"He became what he is"--is so purged from his head
That he now doesn't think he's a madman at all.
Of course, for your memories of very long standing--
Old chronic diseases that date back undaunted
To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens' first landing--
A devil of a dose of the _Lethe_ is wanted.
But even Irish patients can hardly regret
An oblivion so much in their own native style,
So conveniently planned that, whate'er they forget,
They may go on remembering it still all the while!
[The end]
Thomas Moore's poem: Wellington Spa
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
