TO CROAKER, JUNIOR.
our hand, my dear Junior! we’re all in a flame
To see a few more of your flashes;
The Croakers forever! I’m proud of the name—
But, brother, I fear, though our cause is the same,
We shall quarrel like Brutus and Cassius.
But why should we do so? ’tis false what they tell
That poets can never be cronies;
Unbuckle your harness, in peace let us dwell;
Our goose-quills will canter together as well
As a pair of Prime27 mouse-colored ponies.
Once blended in spirit, we’ll make our appeal,
And by law be incorporate too;
Apply for a charter in crackers to deal;
A fly-flapper rampant shall shine on our seal,
And the firm shall be “Croaker & Co.”
Fun! prosper the union—smile, Fate, on its birth!
Miss Atropos, shut up your scissors;
Together we’ll range through the regions of mirth,
A pair of bright Gemini dropped on the earth,
The Castor and Pollux of quizzers.
D.
