Page:Poems (Fields)-1.djvu/27

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THE POST OF HONOR.
11
N. B. — No bribes; the postage you must pay
From this to Boston, and the other way.
A Posiscript, private. — If we all agree,
The undersigned expect the usual fee;
And if you publish in the Western Ball,
Pray don't forget to print our names in full.

The ambitious guardian of the errant swine,
(Sometimes named hog-reeve by the sacred Nine.)
Think you no sighs his anxious breast denote,
Should chance divest him of his party's vote? —
Alas! he cries, with Wolsey in the play,
"Farewell, my greatness! Honor swept away!"
And feels, beneath that recreant party's frown,
A pang as great as when a king goes down.

The country curate, quoting Greek for gold,
Sees it resplendent o'er some distant fold;
His reverend locks, just turned of twenty-two,
Need other perfumes than a Cape Ann dew;—