And racked our brains about the Regulations,
And tried to think we had them free from doubt!
As Rome's old Fathers, reverently leaning
In secret cellars o'er the Sibyl's strain,
Beyond the fact that several pars
Had something vague to do with Mars,
Failed, as a rule, to find the smallest meaning,
But told the plebs the oracle was plain.
So did we study it, ourselves deceiving,
In hope to say, "We have no rations here,"