No foreign clime the weed had borne,—
The Ancients stood amazed;
The good old State Connecticut
The dull brown leaves had raised.
.....
Upon the closing scene;
The wrath and oaths of those brave men
Were sore and hard, I ween.
In Flanders erst the army swore
Most terribly, 't is told;
And sure they had as good excuse,
Our martial Ancients bold.
.....
The Budget poised its pen,
To right, within its columns straight,
The wrongs of these brave men.
A scurvy tale it did unfold;
Right hard it hit, I ween:
Such villain feast, cigars and wine,
Good Christians ne'er had seen.
It further wrote, in good set terms,
That e'en barbarian wight,
Though pressed with hunger or with thirst,
Such nauseous fare would slight.
Sore angered was the cater-man;
Straight brought his suit in tort,
Against the lib'lous Budget staff,
In the Superior Court.
But failing to allege or prove
Aught special damage then,
His suit did lose, before those twelve
Stanch, sturdy Suffolk men.
Swift to the Court Supreme he hied,
And strong did urge his woe;
It helped him naught, the Court Supreme
Sustained the Court below.
.....
Long live the S. J. C.!
Long live the freedom of the Press
Through all eternity!
No longer need we eat the fare,
With indigestion fraught,
Which any caitiff caterer
Upon the board has brought.
Or if perchance the "perilous stuff"
Incautious we ingest,
In good set terms we may express
The wrath within our breast.
Ah! mighty is the trusty sword,
Wielded in bloody fight;
But mightier far the good goose-quill,
Each grievous wrong to right!
