Doc Martin isn’t one to suffer fools:
With him it’s always common sense that rules,
Which proves not very common in Port Wenn,
Whose folks have slight respect for regimen
Or rationality, to Doc’s dismay,
A constant consternation to his day.
He should have been a surgeon in the city
But for one obstacle we have to pity—
He sickens at the very sight of blood,
Keeling to the carpet with a thud.
For all of that, Louisa sees in him
A kindliness behind what looks so prim
An stern, opening Martin’s heart to love,
Who seemed more like an eagle than a dove.
*
