The Sick Stag

								
In a land where stags abounded,
    One fell very sick indeed;
And he saw his bed surrounded
    By a dozen "friends in need."
"Gentlemen!" he muttered, "leave me,
    Leave me, I implore, to fate:
Since your tears can only grieve me,
    And your solace comes too late."
Not a bit;--their lamentations
    Lasted for a week, or more;

While they took their daily rations
    From his very scanty store.
Bit by bit his food diminished,
    Under such attacks as these;
Till the sufferer's course was finished
    By starvation--not disease.

For comforters of every kind
Some fee is necessary, mind;
And nobody will give advice,
Or shed a tear, without his price.
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