It can't be; you're joking; what,--all of 'em dead?

Jim,--Harry,--Fred,--Isaac,--all gone from our side?
They could n't have left us,--no, not if they tried.
Look,--there 's our old Prises,--he can't find his text;
See,--P----- rubs his leg, as he growls out "The next!"

I told you 't was nonsense. Joe, give us a song!
Go harness up "Dolly," and fetch her along!--
Dead! Dead! You false graybeard, I swear they are not!
Hurrah for Old Hickory!--Oh, I forgot!

Well, _one_ we have with us (how could he contrive
To deal with us youngsters and still to survive?)
Who wore for our guidance authority's robe,--
No wonder he took to the study of Job!

And now, as my load was uncommonly large,
Let me taper it off with a classical charge;
When that has gone off, I shall drop my old gun--
And then stand at ease, for my service is done.

_Bibamus ad Classem vocatam_ "The Boys"
_Et eorum Tutorem cui nomen est "Noyes";_
_Et floreant, valeant, vigeant tam,_
_Non Peircius ipse enumeret quam!_