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Sunday Morning Medicine


A weekly check-up of gender, medicine, and history in the news

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  1. No songs about the monthly flowers come to mind, but I was remnded of a favourite song of the 17th/18th centuries. Sung in the person of “a tender young maid,” it concerns a parade of suitors, more less seemly than others, but all rejected. Some are cut down with blatant innuendo.

    A fine dapper taylor, with a yard in his hand
    Did profer his service to be at command
    He talk’d of a slit I had above knee,
    But I’ll have no taylors to stitch it for me.

    My thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still
    Yet other young lasses may do as they will.

    January 26, 2014

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