I am, my dear Sir, Your faithful Servant, BARNABUS BOMBRUSH.
The glories of his leg and cane are past: He made his bow and cut his stick at last.
How provoking! such a choking, thick, and yellow fog No Turk or Jew would venture to turn out a Christian dog. 'Tis cruel hard, upon my word, with such a gloomy sky, To quit my down for Queen or crown, it looks so winter-lye. I'd rather keep me warm within, than go in all this rout, For it's not my creed, except in need, to take to "cold without." And I cannot see why this should be, nor the reason of it all, It's quite a job to dine with Bob and Nabob in Guildhall. —"Why, don't you see, her Majesty as yet is but a green one, She's heard of city riots, but by chance has never seen one; Tho' a king of the land once fear'd the Strand, and said it was full of sinners, And through Cheapside was afraid to ride, so they went without their dinners. But see the light is getting bright, and the streets are filled with people, And pennons gleam, in the morning beam, from turret and from steeple. The sound that swells from St. Martin's bells would please O'Connell's ear, While the Union flag does gaily wag, they're all re-pealers there. But now the crush becomes a rush, and the Black and Red Guards fright beholders, Here comes the Lancers, they're the prancers, and the Blues with their broad swords over their shoulders. And Temple Bar is the seat of war, and rags the ground bestrew, Here's a Sunday hat, and a boy squeezed flat, a purse and a satin shoe. Mister soldier! of course you'll make your horse take his foot from off my toe. I'm on duty, sir, and I dare not stir till I hear the trumpet blow.— But we've paid our guineas, and we're not such ninnies as to stand in all this riot,— Here's a lady dead, for she hangs her head, and seems so very quiet. Oh! what a jam, we can scarcely cram our heads within the door; I fear you'll find, you must sit behind, since you did not come before. Oh! that won't do—we've paid for two—myself, and here's my cousin; I'm number twenty—here's room in plenty—why, your window wont hold a dozen. 'Tis a swindling cheat, but we lose the treat while haggling here we stand, And we'll not submit to be thus bit, if a lawyer's in the land. But now stand fast, they come at last, the grooms in their cloth of gold, And Royal Dukes, you may know by their looks, so thick they can scarce be told. Here are Silver Sticks, in a coach-and-six, methinks it's rather funny, But those sticks are dear, and it's very clear they cost a deal of money. A coach to carry a stick, indeed, how comical you talk— Oh! there's many a stick, with head so thick, that rides when he ought to walk. But who is that, in the feathers and hat, so gracious she nods her head, Oh, that's the Queen's Bed-chamber maid. Is her Majesty going to bed? Now the best of the fun is just begun, for, prancing, may be seen The handsome Common Council men, in their gowns of mazarine, And the Sheriffs bold, in their chains of gold, and not disposed to quarrel, Though one the song of _Moses_ sings, and the other a Christmas _Carroll_. And each Alderman fat, in his three cock'd hat—so comely, one by one They stately ride, with their grooms beside—no doubt, to hold them on. 'Tis the Mayor, of course, outside a horse, with the sword of state before him, He looks, in his pride, from side to side. How the 'prentice boys adore him! Hurrah! Hurrah! she comes this way—stand firm to see her pass! Well, what have you seen?—why, not the Queen, but the glare of the window glass. Oh, I'm going wild! have you seen my child? from above I let him fall.— Yes, there he rolls on the people's polls, and he'll soon be at Guildhall. That little crowd, they scream so loud, it pierces thro' and thro' you; It's all the charity girls and boys a-singing "Hallelujah," And "Live the Queen"—'tis a lovely scene—did you hear that cracking note?— 'Tis a little lass, in the second class, she's burst her little throat. And now the bells ring round again, and the cannon loudly thunder, But, before we go, do any know which _was_ the Queen, I wonder? _I_ saw the Queen, she was dressed in green, and a gold tiara crown'd her. No, I rather think, that was her in pink, with the silver all around her.— In pink or green she never was seen, but she wore a robe of red, And she rode a horse, as a thing of course, with a fur cap on her head.— I think it's plain we shall know her again, so now we'll quit our station, And we'll take a turn, when the gas-lights burn, to see the illumination. See crowns and stars, and bright V.R.'s, and wreaths and garlands pretty, And laurels green all round the Queen, and mottoes quaint and witty.