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  • When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees; Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill; Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

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When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees; Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill; Sweet Spirit, comfort me!


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