Classic Poem

A humerous fellow in a Tavern late,
Being drunk and valiant, gets a broken pate;
The Surgeon with his instruments, and skill,
Searches his scull deeper, and deeper still,
To feel his brains, and tries if those were sound,
And as he keeps ado about the wound,
The fellow cryes, Good Surgeon spare the pains;
When I began this brawle, I had no brains.