With majority advancing,
First to New Tariff laws his lore address’d,
But soon he pourèd from his wrath-full phial
The Income Tax, whose ease he loved the best,
They would have thought who heard his strain
They saw in ancient Rome her saviour stand,
Amid the lyres of the Imperial band,
To the triumphant notes unwearied dancing,
While, as his pearl-white pinions swept the strings,
Joy pranced with fear a wild fantastic round,