“Resolved that we will post,”
the tradesmen say,
“All names of debtors who do never
pay.”
“Whose shall be first?” inquires
the ready scribe—
“Who are the chiefs of the marauding
tribe?”
Lo! high Parnassus, lifting from the plain,
Upon his hoary peak, a noble fane!
Within that temple all the names are scrolled
Of village bards upon a slab of gold;
To that bad eminence, my friend, aspire,
And copy thou the Roll of Fame, entire.
Yet not to total shame those names devote,
But add in mercy this explaining note:
“These cheat because the law makes
theft a crime,
And they obey all laws but laws of rhyme.”
A BEQUEST TO MUSIC.
“Let music flourish!” So he
said and died.
Hark! ere he’s gone
the minstrelsy begins:
The symphonies ascend, a swelling tide,
Melodious thunders fill the welkin wide—
The grand old lawyers, chinning
on their chins!
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