The Medicine

Two sprinkles hairy wart
Flesh of stag killed in sport
Dissolved in heavy brine
Will make limbs swoon
And the stricken recline
Where once frenzied with fever
Pallor will clear and
Gaze refine
Purple of imp’s bulbous nose
Pinch of tulip and primrose
Will have the morbidly dreaming repose
As if beneath a moon soft with gauze
Enwrapped the sleeper warms and lulls