To “Doc” Wylie

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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!

© Henry Lawson