The dictates of your master’s will;
Prompt to obey the prompter’s nod,
And worship Mammon as your god.
Oh Press, great pillar of the State,
How deeply art thou fallen of late!
To what a gulf of degradation,
From such a height of power and station!
Your friends scarce recognize your face,
Whose traits betray your foul disgrace:
Should Franklin rise from out his grave,