IX.
These papers, of course, were filled with the fun—TheTribune, theWorld, theTimesand theSun,Each gave to the facts a different hue,And each one proclaimed its own statement true;Their big black bulletins chalked o’er in white,Gave all thelatest newsfrom morn till night;Ofttimes, ’tis true, they made a huge blunder—They must sell their papers—’tis no wonder!Plaster and whitewash is the stuff they use—The pen is but a trowel to abuse.But why complain? at least ’tis unavailing;Why, such mistakes are but reporter’s failing;If they won’t fib what bounty can they crave?We pay for what we want—not what we have.
These papers, of course, were filled with the fun—TheTribune, theWorld, theTimesand theSun,Each gave to the facts a different hue,And each one proclaimed its own statement true;Their big black bulletins chalked o’er in white,Gave all thelatest newsfrom morn till night;Ofttimes, ’tis true, they made a huge blunder—They must sell their papers—’tis no wonder!Plaster and whitewash is the stuff they use—The pen is but a trowel to abuse.But why complain? at least ’tis unavailing;Why, such mistakes are but reporter’s failing;If they won’t fib what bounty can they crave?We pay for what we want—not what we have.
These papers, of course, were filled with the fun—
TheTribune, theWorld, theTimesand theSun,
Each gave to the facts a different hue,
And each one proclaimed its own statement true;
Their big black bulletins chalked o’er in white,
Gave all thelatest newsfrom morn till night;
Ofttimes, ’tis true, they made a huge blunder—
They must sell their papers—’tis no wonder!
Plaster and whitewash is the stuff they use—
The pen is but a trowel to abuse.
But why complain? at least ’tis unavailing;
Why, such mistakes are but reporter’s failing;
If they won’t fib what bounty can they crave?
We pay for what we want—not what we have.