Whiskey "fellers" feeling badly,
Cigar-sellers smoking madly,
Bondsmen looking sorely, sadly,
If their signatures are clear,
If you will not cost them dear,
If in court they must appear
Mournfully, in doubt and fear.
Oh! you weak, unfeeling cuss,
To get them in this shocking muss;
How their pocket-books will rue it!
J.F.B., how _could_ you do it?
Are you putting for the West,
Did you take French leave for Brest,
Have you feathered well your nest,
Do you sweetly take your rest;
Say, whom _do_ you like the best--
COOK, or JENKS, or FULLERTON?
Would you, JOSH, believe it true,
At the moment, sir, when you
Waited for that verdict blue,
O'er the wires the message flew,
Paid or franked by BOUTWELL through:
"The gig is up; the cuss won't do.
Put the district Thirty-two
Under General PLEASANTON."
Oh! the vile ingratitude;
Of Statesmen in this latitude;
Worse than DELANO'S attitude.
Say, what is your longitude,
East or West from Washington?