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Rh George Coleman shall sparkle in old bottled cider,
 * Roast-beef and potatoes friend Crabbe will supply;

Rogers shall hash us an “olla podrida,”
 * And the best of fresh “cabbage” from Paulding we’ll buy.

Mr. Tennant—free, fanciful, laughing, and lofty,
 * Shall pour out Tokay and Scotch whiskey like rain;

Southey shall sober our spirits with coffee,
 * And Horace in London “flash up in champagne.”

Tom Campbell shall cheer us with rosy Madeira,
 * Refined by long keeping, rich, sparkling, and pure;

And Moore, “pour chasse café,” to each one shall bear a
 * Sip-witching bumper of parfait amour.

Then come to our banquet—oh! how can you pause
 * A moment between merry rhyme and dull reason?

Preferring the wit-blighting “Spirit of Laws”
 * To the spirit of verse, is poetical treason!

Judge Phœbus will certainly issue his writ,
 * No quirk or evasion your cause can make good, man;

Only think what you’ll surfer, when sentenced to sit
 * And be kept broad awake till you’ve read the Backwoodsman!

D.