Mandragora

—though she did not know whether her supposed rival was dead or alive, whether the complaints she at once pitied and resented were those which "poppy and mandragora" might medicine, or "those written troubles of the brain" which were incapable of cure, she contrived to make up for herself a draught of most terrible infliction.

The worst fodder for a President is not poppy and mandragora, but strychnine and adrenalin.