A Rum Complaint

The old fellow held out his hands that shook
Like the leaves of a wind-blown tree,
And begged the doctor for relief
From his ghastly malady.

The doctor gave him a thorough check,
With sure and competent touch;
"There's nothing much wrong with you," he said,
"Except that you drink too much."

"That's all very well," the old fellow said -
"You can blame the grog if you will,
But it's not what I drink that's gettin' me down -
It's the bloody amount that I spill."