I should be lying on it with a mug of honey and lemon
brought to me by a caring attendant
with a cool hand for my fevered brow,
but instead I am pacing around fretfully,
coughing a little pathetically now and then
and feeling dreadfully, dreadfully, sorry for myself.
I just don't seem to have the knack of being ill graciously.
Ben Pentreath knows how to
but what I want to know is,
who is bringing him his meals in bed?