Clinton Scollard

WHEN Wouter Van Twiller sailed over the sea,

A shrewd store of wit in his noodle had he;

And while he was sent as the Company’s son,

His eye was alert to enrich number one;

It was his pocket foremost—that busy old filler,—

Very aldermanlike was good Wouter Van Twiller!

A fine strip of land if he chanced to divine

He straightway bethought him “that farm shall be mine!”

And worthily working this excellent plan,

Erelong he annexed all Sapponikan;

He pinched like a mercer, took toll like a miller;

Truly aldermanlike was good Wouter Van Twiller!

In Minetta Water, when noontides were blue,

He trouted from Fifth through to Sixth Avenue;

And when (it was frequent) he’d mornings to spare,

He hunted the duck over Washington Square.

“Times are ill,” groaned the traders; “the times might be iller,”

Replied, with a wink, crafty Wouter Van Twiller.

Gone Wouter Van Twiller, but not all his kind,

At least by the knowing it thus is opined;

While chiefly his own, he was every man’s friend;

His image we’re likely to view to the end;

You may see it today,—’tis our pride and our pillar,—

The image of grasping old Wouter Van Twiller.