Until we heard this 'Frisco youth,
We reckoned we could blow!"
Sir Slosson paled with pent-up ire—
His eyes emitted fitful fire—
With rage his blood congealed;
Yet, exercising sweet restraint,
He swore no vow and breathed no plaint—
But pined for Good Old Field.
The ladies, too, we dare to say,
(If they survived that fateful day),