Think not, wise reader, that the bard hath drunk
The wine that fumed these vagaries from the monk;
Nor, in the devil ethics thou hast read,
There spake the poet in the Devil's stead.
Let Virtue be our helmet and our shield,
And Truth our weapon--weapon sharp and strong
And deadly to all error and all wrong.
Yea, armed with Truth, though rogues and rascals throng
The citadel of Virtue shall not yield,
For God's right arm of Truth prevails in every field.
[Illustration: THE DEVIL AND THE MONK]
THE TARIFF ON TIN
Monarch of Hannah's rocking-chair,
With unclipped beard and unkempt hair,
Sitting at ease by the kitchen fire,
Nor heeding the wind and the driving sleet,
Jo Lumpkin perused the _Daily Liar_--
A leading and stanch Democratic sheet,
While Hannah, his wife, in her calico,
Sat knitting a pair of mittens for Jo.
"Hanner," he said, and he raised his eyes
And looked exceedingly grave and wise,
"The kentry's agoin, I guess, tu the dogs:
Them durned Republikins, they air hogs:
A dev'lish purty fix we air in;
They've gone un riz the teriff on tin."
"How's thet?" said Hannah, and turned her eyes
With a look of wonder and vague surprise.
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