A SILURIAN HOLIDAY'Tis Master Fitch, the editor;He takes an holiday.Now wherefore, venerable sir,So resolutely gay?He lifts his head, he laughs aloud,Odzounds! 'tis drear to see!"Because the Boodle-Scribbler crowdWill soon be far from me."Full many a year I've striven wellTo freeze the caitiffs outBy making this good town a Hell,But still they hang about."They maken mouths and eke they grinAt the dollar limit game;And they are holpen in that sinBy many a wicked dame."In sylvan bowers hence I'll dwellMy bruishd mind to ease.Farewell, ye urban scenes, farewell!Hail, unfamiliar trees!"Forth Master Fitch did bravely hie,And all the country folkBesought him that he come not nighThe deadly poison oak!He smiled a cheerful smile (the dayWas straightway overcast)—The poison oak along his wayWas blighted as he passed!
'Tis Master Fitch, the editor;He takes an holiday.Now wherefore, venerable sir,So resolutely gay?He lifts his head, he laughs aloud,Odzounds! 'tis drear to see!"Because the Boodle-Scribbler crowdWill soon be far from me."Full many a year I've striven wellTo freeze the caitiffs outBy making this good town a Hell,But still they hang about."They maken mouths and eke they grinAt the dollar limit game;And they are holpen in that sinBy many a wicked dame."In sylvan bowers hence I'll dwellMy bruishd mind to ease.Farewell, ye urban scenes, farewell!Hail, unfamiliar trees!"Forth Master Fitch did bravely hie,And all the country folkBesought him that he come not nighThe deadly poison oak!He smiled a cheerful smile (the dayWas straightway overcast)—The poison oak along his wayWas blighted as he passed!