THE King was sick. His cheek was redAnd his eye was clear and bright;He ate and drank with a kingly zest,And peacefully snored at night.But he said he was sick, and a king should know,And doctors came by the score.They did not cure him. He cut off their headsAnd sent to the schools for more.At last two famous doctors came,And one was as poor as a rat, —He had passed his life in studious toil,And never found time to grow fat.The other had never looked in a book;His patients gave him no trouble,