The Death of Justice

Fitzgerald! Fitzgerald! your fearful trial is done;
The lie has weathered every rack, the scalp you sought soon won;
The jurys out, though they're in doubt, the kossacks are exulting,
While follow all the comic tale of Wilson, grim and daring.
But O Karl! Karl! Karl!
O the swelled and manxome head!
Now mocking truth, justice lies
Fallen cold and dead.

II.
O jury! dear Jury! rise up and take the bait;
Rise up! For you the shite is flung, for you the kossacks wait:
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for Scooters scalp a'bringing:
For you they wait, the seething mob, their eager faces turning.
Here Jury! dear jury!
It's Rove that's in your head;
It is some dream and woven web,
Fitz prays your logic's dead.

III.
The Fitzmas did not snag him, his lips are pale and thin;
He's free to walk and talk the talk that Nancy's off her ken;
The case is finished safe and sound, its cozen closed and done;
From hoax and tripe and closing's shite awaits the object won!
Exult, O Times, and gull, O Post!
But I with mournful dread,
Walk the rue where justice lies,
Fallen cold and dead.