Can't you arrange to come down?
Can't you arrange it, old Pard?—
Pigeonhole Blackstone and Kent!—
Here we have "Breitmann," and Ward,
Twain, Burdette, Nye, and content!
Can't you forget you're a Judge
And put by your dolorous frown
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend—
Can't you arrange to come down?