Maecenas, you're of noble line—
(Of which the proof convincing
Is that you buy me all my wine
Without so much as wincing.)
To different men of different minds
Come different kinds of pleasure;
There's Marshall Field—what joy he finds
In shears and cloth-yard measure!
With joy Prof. Swing is filled
While preaching godly sermons;
With bliss is Hobart Taylor thrilled
When he is leading germans.
While Uncle Joe Medill prefers
To run a daily paper,
To Walter Gresham it occurs
That law's the proper caper.
With comedy a winning card,
How blithe is Richard Hooley;
Per contra, making soap and lard,
Rejoices Fairbank duly.
While Armour in the sugar ham
His summum bonum reaches,
MacVeagh's as happy as a clam
In canning pears and peaches.
Let Farwell glory in the fray
Which party hate increases—
His son-in-law delights to play
Gavottes and such like pieces.
So each betakes him to his task—
So each his hobby nurses—
While I—well, all the boon I ask
Is leave to write my verses.
Give, give that precious boon to me
And I shall envy no man;
If not the noblest I shall be
At least the happiest Roman!