Monday, September the 14th, 2009

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Papist Mountain Apothecary

The mountain apothecary with his bag so black. Is it a bag or is it a sack? He heaves it up the mountain on his back. It is full of pills and potions.

But no one lives upon this peak. So as he climbs who does he seek? Ah, look, a goat, a goat so weak. He'll pamper it with his lotions.

The mountain apothecary is no vet. The weakened goat's our hero's pet. He trapped it once, within a net. But now it roams the slopes.

The air is thin when one's so high. The goat is weak and it may die. The apothecary wears a Catholic tie. He's treated several Popes.

A Papist apothecary, do you say? On the mountain this very day? I would drown him in the bay, for I say he's a sinner.

Aye, a sinner and a heretic! Evil is what makes him tick. Almighty God, he makes me sick. I'll vomit up my dinner.

I ate in the chalet at the foot of the mount. Me and a baron and a Protestant count. Oh we ate a huge amount, of mountain goat and hog.

See the apothecary come back down. He's taking his goat into the town, where there's a vet of great renown. I'll shove him into the bog.

“Papist Apothecary Drowned In Bog”, the headline in my Daily Log. Now I'll march off into the fog, and vanish whence I came.

I came from haunts of coot and hern. There I watch the Papists burn. Repent! Before it is your turn, and shudder at my name.