The maids of Beacon Hill threatened to leave
when told they must eat it four times each week;
inmates at Charlestown remained in the yard,
warning their keepers, even the chaplain,
they'd piss in the chicory coffee urn
and cut no more stone for the Commonwealth.
The Brahmins of Boston said it was wholesome,
and if staff won't eat it the mousers will;
Mistress rang Margaret who at the bell
wheeled in chateaubriand with haricots verts
while outside the scullery lobster tail stank
in milk for mousers and horse shit for flowers.