FOUR CANDIDATES FOR SENATORTo flatter your way to the goad of your hope,O plausible Mr. Perkins,You'll need ten tons of the softest soapAnd butter a thousand firkins.The soap you could put to a better useIn washing your hands of ambitionEre the butter's used for cooking your gooseTo a beautiful brown condition."The Railroad can't run Stanford." That is so—The tail can't curl the pig; but then, you know,Inside the vegetable-garden's paleThe pig will eat more cabbage than the tail.When Sargent struts by all the lawmakers say:"Right—left!" It is fair to inferThe right will get left, nor polar the dayWhen he makes that thing to occur.Not so, not so, 'tis a joke, that cry—Foolish and dull and small:He so bores them for votes that they mean to implyHe's a drill-Sargent, that is all.Gods! what a sight! Astride McClure's broad backEstee jogs round the Senatorial track,The crowd all undecided, as they pass,Whether to cheer the man or cheer the ass.They stop: the man to lower his feet is seenAnd the tired beast, withdrawing from between,Mounts, as they start again, the biped's neck,And scarce the crowd can say which one's on deck.
To flatter your way to the goad of your hope,O plausible Mr. Perkins,You'll need ten tons of the softest soapAnd butter a thousand firkins.The soap you could put to a better useIn washing your hands of ambitionEre the butter's used for cooking your gooseTo a beautiful brown condition.
"The Railroad can't run Stanford." That is so—The tail can't curl the pig; but then, you know,Inside the vegetable-garden's paleThe pig will eat more cabbage than the tail.
When Sargent struts by all the lawmakers say:"Right—left!" It is fair to inferThe right will get left, nor polar the dayWhen he makes that thing to occur.Not so, not so, 'tis a joke, that cry—Foolish and dull and small:He so bores them for votes that they mean to implyHe's a drill-Sargent, that is all.
Gods! what a sight! Astride McClure's broad backEstee jogs round the Senatorial track,The crowd all undecided, as they pass,Whether to cheer the man or cheer the ass.They stop: the man to lower his feet is seenAnd the tired beast, withdrawing from between,Mounts, as they start again, the biped's neck,And scarce the crowd can say which one's on deck.