The word the man said was Anthology.
Poor Murphy! He hadn’t a clue.
He thought it sounded quite medical
Or maybe something from out of the zoo.
Now Pat, he wasn’t the smartest,
And not wishing to seem like a fool.
Just sat there and kept his big mouth shut,
Sometimes he looked rather cool.
But he planned to know what that word meant.
He would learn, no matter the cost.
So he went to see Doctor McCarthy,
And he asked for help from the doc.
Now the doctor was up to his eyeballs,
T’was the season of flu, there’s no doubt,
He didn’t have time to spend checking,
On words he knew nothing about.
He told Murphy; I don’t think it’s serious,
But chances we had better not take.
You will need to have medication,
To build your resistance, in case.
Take this letter to Farrell’s The Chemist.
Some herbs and drugs he will mix.
Take it three times a day without failure,
And I’ll see you again in a week.
So Murphy went down to Farrell’s.
Taking with him the doctor’s note,
He hoped the chemist would tell him,
The words that the doctor had wrote.
If he thought he might learn from the chemist,
He was soon told and left in no doubt.
The Privacy Act was in force there.
That word was not bandied about.
I will fix you the brew as requested,
It will take me almost an hour.
You must go get police permission,
To use dangerous drugs in this town.
Take this note I have written, make haste now.
Go see Sergeant Timothy Browne,
His decision alone, it is final,
He alone can refuse or allow.
The old cop scowled at poor Murphy,
He looked all efficient and keen.
Said, I hope it’s not contagious,
Whatever, Anthology means,
I will grant you that special permission,
On condition, you go see the priest.
He’ll know how to deal with the problem.
It’s his job to care for lost sheep.
Father Mack looked kindly on Patrick,
In hushed tones asked what he’d done.
Have you been playing with that queer lot?
Enjoying their deviant fun?
You must now make a good confession,
And pray that your soul is not lost.
Be ready for whatever might happen,
Anthology could come with a cost.
Poor Murphy was feeling confused now,
He didn’t know if he was blest or cursed.
So went into the pub round the corner,
And there he prepared for the worst.