O, justice, you have fled, to dwell
In Mexico, unstrangled,
Lest you should hang as high as—well,
As Haman dangled.
(I know not if his cord he twanged,
Or the King proved forgiving.
'Tis hard to think of Haman hanged,
And Haymond living.)
Yes, as I said: in mortal fear
To Mexico you journeyed;
For you were on your trial here,
And ill attorneyed.
The Law had long regarded you
As an extreme offender.
Religion looked upon you, too,
With thoughts untender.
The Press to you was cold as snow,
For sin you'd always call so.
In Politics you were de trop,
In Morals also.
All this is accurately true
And, faith! there might be more said;
But—well, to save your thrapple you
Fled, as aforesaid.
You're down in Mexico—that's plain
As that the sun is risen;
For Daniel Burns, down there, his chain
Drags round in prison.