Paste-pot and scissors! raise thy sticky hands,
And make on us imperial demands!
Not over-often comes the day or hour
We're not indebted to thy magic power;
To all of us the obligation clings;
Thou art our foragers—but not our kings!
Is it that "friend," whom editors adore,
Who calls "a minute" of three hours or more,
Who occupies the easiest vacant chair,
With large amounts of time and tongue to spare?