Hence it was hidden from the public gaze.
Now it hath disappeared, and Rumor saith
'Tis to be published in a stealthy way.
Zounds! 'tis enough to cause the blood to course
Like mercury adown the burning veins.
Could I but lay my eager hands upon
The thiefly neck, I'd wring it with good zest.

FRANCOS:
But, Windbag; why didst thou thy tongue unloose,
And set it wagging vaporings and froth?
Thou mightest have known the foe didst ready stand
To thrust thy words adown thy choking throat.
Imprudence on its shoulders ever bears
A burden which may crush its author down;
'Twere best to keep the pen in constant leash,
For, words, indited not, work little harm.

SIR WINDBAG:
But softly, Sire, Thy record is not clean,
If but tradition wears a truthful garb.
Plug hats and coats of a latest Tammany style
And "pleasure saturnine" did figure cut
When first thy mouth did voice the burning thoughts
That trickled from a brain much overwrought
By meditation on conditions here
Which bore so heavy on this downtrod race.

FRANCOS:
Alas! 'tis true. Indoctrined by the words
So eloquently voiced by one who long
Hath dwelt within this city, where before
The bar he wondrous reputation gained,
I waited not to form a judgment sound,
But leaning on a faith of fiction born,
Awoke to find selfseeking underneath
Each silver work this vampire spouted forth.

SIR WINDBAG:
Francos, indeed thou hast my sympathy
For this fat prophet wore an honest mien
So that e'en I who boast a subtile brain
Did fall before his wordy blandishments.
'Tis well! we then are quits. But why this call?
What matter of great import draws us here?

FRANCOS: _(to Windbag)_
The welfare of our party is at stake.
"Our" is the word, for thou the Rubicon
Hast crossed, and henceforth--lest thou bolt again--
Deep in our councils, e'er thy duty calls.

SIR HIGGS:
Most honored sirs, why this entanglement?
Both, through the want of deep experience,
Have, as the sacred writer once did say,
"Ove