To Doc Wylie

Though doctors may your name discard And say you physicked vilely, I would I were as good a bard As you a doctor, Wylie! How often, when your skill subdued The fever ranging highly, You won a bushman’s gratitude, Though little more, Doc Wylie! How oft across the regions wide Where scrub for many a mile lay The bushman rode, as bushmen ride, To seek your aid, Doc Wylie! But now, when bushman’s wife or child Lies ill and suffering direly, He’ll need to ride a weary while Before he finds Doc Wylie. I hope where they have made your bed, And where these verses I lay, They’ll raise a board above your head And write your name Doc Wylie!