When put to the defensive, to really show one’s forte,
But in quaffing to those heroes who’re destined e’er to shine,
Or in toasting to great “quarters” in retrospective wine,
I’ll just defer to Kipling and attempt to plagiarize
Those lines of his so potent, and not philosophize
Here’s to ’Weth, ’Weth, ’Weth, Chenoweth,
You doughty little “quarter,” get your breath,
Though they’ve tackled, mauled and flayed you,
And in Earth’s dank mud have laid you,
You’ve “got ’em shooting ducks,” “Tex” Chenoweth.