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Little Jack Horner sat sick in a corner, ~. . . A-coughing and rubbing his eyes. While Granny was waiting and watering him taking A dose fit to poison the flies. 'Twas a draught of her own, and far best left alone, . Which she made her young nctim endure— O, the silly old muff! to brew worthless home stuff When there's Woods' Gr«at y«p» permint Cure.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/STEP19140711.2.15.5
Bibliographic details
Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXIX, Issue 68, 11 July 1914, Page 4
Word Count
63Page 4 Advertisements Column 5 Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXIX, Issue 68, 11 July 1914, Page 4
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