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William Henry Drummond - Doctor Hilaire
Work rating: Low

A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos` fall,
  "Doctor lak dat for sick folk, he’s never no use at all,"
  But wait till you hear de story dey `re tellin` about heem yet,
  An` see if you don`t hear somet`ing, mebbe you won`t forget.

  Twenty odd year she’s marry, Belzemire Lafreniere,
  An` oh! but she’s feelin` lonesome `cos never a sign is dere--
  Purty long tam for waitin`, but poor leetle Belzemire
  She’s bad enough now for pay up all of dem twenty year.

  Call heem de oldes` doctor, call heem de younges` wan,
  Bring dem along, no matter if ev`ry dollar’s gone--
  T`ree of dem can`t do not`ing, workin` for two days dere,
  She was a very sick woman, Belzemire Lafreniere.

  Pierre he was cryin`, cryin` out on de barn behin`,
  Neighbors tryin` to kip heem goin` right off hees min`,
  W`en somebody say, "Las` winter, ma wife she is nearly go,
  An` who do you t`ink is save her? ev`ry wan surely know.

  "Drink? does he drink de w`isky? don`t care I’m hees only frien`,
  Dere’s only wan answer comin`.  Wall! leetle bit now an` den
  Doctor Hilaire he tak` it, but if it was me or you
  Leevin` on Beausejour dere, w`at are you goin` to do?

  "An` so you may t`ank de w`isky, `cos w`ere `ll he be to-day
  If he never is drinkin` not`ing?  Many a mile away
  Off on de great beeg city, makin` de money quick,
  W`ere ev`ry wan want de doctor w`enever he’s leetle sick.

  "Remember de way to get heem is tell heem it`s bad, bad case,
  Or Doctor Hilaire you’ll never see heem upon dis place!
  Tell heem dere’s two life waitin`, an` sure to be comin` die
  Unless he is hurry quicker dan ever de bird can fly.

  "T`orty mile crick is runnin` over de road, I’m sure,
  But if you can fin` de crossin` you’ll ketch heem at Beausejour.
  Sober or drunk, no matter, bring heem along you mus`,
  For Doctor Hilaire’s de only man of de lot for us."

  Out wit` de quickes` horse den, Ste. Genevieve has got,
  An` if ever you show your paces, now is de tam to trot--
  Johnnie Dufresne is drivin`, w`at! never hear tell of heem,
  Off on de Yankee circus, an` han`le a ten-horse team?

  Dat was de lonesome journey over de mountain high,
  Down w`ere de w`ite fog risin` show w`ere de swamp is lie,
  An` drive as he can de faster, an` furder away he get,
  Johnnie can hear dat woman closer an` closer yet.

  Offen he tell about it, not`ing he never do
  Geev` heem de funny feelin` Johnnie is goin` t`roo,
  But he is sure of wan t`ing, if Belzemire’s comin` die,
  Poor woman, she`d never foller affer heem wit` her cry.

  Dat is de t`ing is cheer heem, knowin` she is n`t gone,
  So he answer de voice a-callin`, tellin` her to hol` on,
  Till he bring her de help she’s needin` if only she wait a w`ile
  Dat is de way he’s doin` all of dem t`orty mile--

  Lucky he was to-night, too, for place on de crick he got,
  Search on de light of day-tam, he could n`t fin` better spot,
  But jus` as it happen`, mebbe acre or two below,
  Is place w`ere de ole mail-driver’s drownin` a year ago.

  W`ere is de road? he got it, an` very soon Beausejour
  Off on de hillside lyin`, dere she is, small an` poor,
  Lookin` so lak starvation might a` been t`roo de war,
  An` dere, on de bar-room sleepin`, de man he is lookin` for.

  Drunk? he is worse dan ever--poor leetle man! too bad!
  Lissen to not`ing neider, but Johnnie is feel so glad
  Ketchin` heem dere so easy, `fore he can answer, "No"--
  He’s tyin` heem on de buggy, an` off on de road he go--

  Half o` de journey’s over, half o` de night is pass,
  W`en Doctor Hilaire stop swearin`, an` start to get quiet at las`--
  Don`t do any good ax Johnnie lettin` heem loose again,
  For if any man tak` de chances, would n`t be Johnnie Dufresne.

  Hooraw for de black horse trotter! hooraw for de feller drive!
  An` wan leetle cheer for Belzemire dat’s kipin` herse`f alive
  Till Johnnie is bring de doctor, an` carry heem on de door
  An` loosen heem out as sober as never he was before.

  Quiet inside de house now, quiet de outside too,
  Look at each oder smokin`, dat’s about all we do;
  An` jus` as we feel, ba tonder! no use, we mus` talk or die,
  Dere on de house we’re hearin` poor leetle baby`s cry.

  Dat’s all, but enough for makin` tear comin` down de face,
  An` Pierre, if you only see heem jumpin` aroun` de place
  You`d t`ink of a colt in spring-tam--den off on de barn we go
  W`ere somebody got de bottle for drinkin` de healt`, you know.

  Takin` it too moche w`isky, is purty hard job to cure,
  But only for poor ole w`isky, village of Beausejour
  Can never have such a doctor, an` dat’s w`y it aint no tam
  Talk very moche agin it, but fill her up jus` de sam`.

  An` drink to de baby`s moder, here’s to de baby too,
  An` Doctor Hilaire, anoder, beeger dan all, for you.
  For sober or drunk, no matter, so long as he understan`
  It`s very bad case is waitin`, Doctor Hilaire’s de man.
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