"O venerable patriot, I pray
  Stand not here coatless; at the break of day
    We'll know the grand result—and even now
  The eastern sky is faintly touched with gray.

  "It ill befits thine age's hoary crown—
  This rude environment of rogue and clown,
    Who, as the lying bulletins appear,
  With drunken cries incarnadine the town.

  "But if with noble zeal you stay to note
  The outcome of your patriotic vote
    For Blaine, or Cleveland, and your native land,
  Take—and God bless you!—take my overcoat."

  "Done, pard—and mighty white of you. And now
    guess the country'll keep the trail somehow.
    I aint allowed to vote, the Warden said,
  But whacked my coat up on old Stanislow."