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 APTAIN WEEKS, your right hand—though I never have seen it,
 * I shake it on paper, full ten times a day:

I love your Tenth Ward, and I wish I lived in it;
 * Do you know any house there to let against May?

I don’t mind what the rent is, so long as I get off
 * From these party-mad beings, these tongues without heads!

I’m ashamed to be seen, sir, among such a set of
 * Clintonians, Tammanies, Coodies, and Feds!

Besides, I am nervous, and can’t bear the racket
 * These gentlemen make when they’re begging for votes;

There’s John Haff, and Ben Bailly, and Christian, and Bracket,
 * Only think what fine music must come from their throats!

Colonel Warner calls Clinton a “star in the banner,”
 * Mapes swears by his sword-knot he’ll ruin us all;

While Meigs flashes out in his fine classic manner,
 * “The meteor Gorgon of Clinton must fall!”