The Limber-Bricks

There once was a booklet of verse,
so city it needed a hearse,
The pages were scraps,
The rage felt encaps-
sulated a need to rehearse.

That tattered old booklet was found
Down-trodden, brow-beaten, aground
the gutter drain oceans;
With sewagic potions.
How much better it was does astound!

How many more? The crowds asked upset.
But the booklet with droplets did sprecht:
Is there any for topsy?
Or scurvy? You’ve got me!
It’s lyrical typhoid instead!