Old Nick from his place of last resort Came up and looked the world over. He saw how the grass of the good was short And the wicked lived in clover.
And he gravely said: “This is all, all wrong, And never by me intended. If to me the power should ever belong I shall have this thing amended.”
He looked so solemn and good and wise As he made this observation That the men who heard him believed their eyes Instead of his reputation.
So they bruited the matter about, and each Reported the words as nearly As memory served — with additional speech To bring out the meaning clearly.
The consequence was that none understood, And the wildest rumors started Of something intended to help the good And injure the evil-hearted.
Then Robert Morrow was seen to smile With a bright and lively joyance. “A man,” said he, “that is free from guile Will now be free from annoyance.
“The Featherstones doubtless will now increase And multiply like the rabbits, While jailers, deputy sheriffs, police, And writers will form good habits.
“The widows more easily robbed will be, And no juror will ever heed‘ em, But open his purse to my eloquent plea For security, gain, or freedom.”
When Benson heard of the luck of the good ( He was eating his dinner ) he muttered: “It cannot help me, for‘ tis understood My bread is already buttered.
“My plats of surveys are all false, they say, But that cannot greatly matter To me, for I'll tell the jurors that they May lick, if they please, my platter.”
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