Of letters and post-cards bearing a host—
Beneath the load he seems ready to sink.
The Statesman opens and reads them all,
(Paper and pens and a quart of ink.)
Quoth he, “I’ll answer them great and small,
This very night ere I sleep a wink.”
In he strides to his big bureau,
(Paper and pens and a gallon of ink.)
And answers fourscore letters or so—
(Fourscore’s the minimum number, I think);