Classic Poem

I wish some Sage, some Philosophic Cid,
With knowledge of the facts, or some invention,
Would tell us what it was that Katy did
That causes all this eventide contention.
It must have been some very awful thing,
Some naughty deed of wickedness immortal,
The way the Dame's posterity doth sing
About it every eve around my portal.

At set of sun th' affirmatives begin,
Yet bring no evidence to help the trial.
Then t'other side for the defence put in
An everlasting chorus of denial.
And so it goes. They keep it up all night,
All thoughts of rest, or hope of verdict scorning,
With ne'er an end of any kind in sight
When routed from the forum by the morning.

It seems to me a foolish sort of row,
And sad to see so many thousands nettled,
When if we knew the charge perhaps somehow
It might be compromised or wholly settled.
At any rate I'm full of charity,
And all the shrieking crew can count upon it
Until the charge and proofs are brought to me
I shan't believe that Katy ever “done” it!