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Rh Judge Warner says that, when he’s gone,
 * You’ll miss the true Dogberry breed;

And Christian swears that you have done
 * A most -Christian deed.

How could you have the heart to strike From place the peerless Pierre Van Wyck? And the twin colonels, Haines and Pell, Squire Fessenden, and Sheriff Bell; Morrell, a justice and a wise one, And Ned McLaughlin the exciseman; The two health-officers, believers In Clinton and contagious fevers; The keeper of the city’s treasures, The sealer of her weights and measures, The harbor-master, her best bower Cable in party’s stormy hour; Ten auctioneers, three bank directors, And Mott and Duffy, the inspectors
 * Of whiskey and of flour!

It was but yesterday they stood All (ex-officio) great and good. But by the tomahawk struck down Of party and of Walter Bowne, Where are they now? With shapes of air, The caravan of things that were, Journeying to their nameless home, Like Mecca’s pilgrims from her tomb;