If, with the fat of spitted priests,
I have enriched your genial feasts;
Or politician’s sav’riest part,
Has warmed the “cockles” of your heart:
Oh, grant me, now, this precious boon,
(Again I may not ask you soon,)
May I before the lieges spread
The merits of the Copperhead!
It is, indeed, a boon you ask,
And mine will be an arduous task: