Descending from the clouds, note we the state of his household matters, while he thus dreameth in complacent security.
Thou mayest observe, gentle Reader, certain satellites of _Mercury_ (the planet of thieves), who, under the impersonation of rooks, by an immersion of their long beaks into the profundity of his pockets, are abstracting his treasure. At the right hand of the dreamer, a cutpurse knave of Spades, the apt symbol of rail-road diggers and miners, hath, by an undermining trick, possessed himself of his bullion; while the Demon of Gin, in the likelihood of a crafty serpent, entwined round his lower extremities, shadoweth forth the ruin with which the fiend spirit threateneth the props of the body politic,—the Industrious Classes. The rats, those rogues in grain, are devouring his corn; and his faithful Tray is gnawing at his dinner.
Surrounded as he is by wealth and plenty, shall we marvel, that when the master of the house sleepeth on his post, knaves will cheat, thieves will steal, and servants will pilfer?
Hip, hip, huzza! For Merry May! More dear than tongues can tell, To ev'ry child of Phœbus,—and Of Lancaster and Bell.
Lay by your books: Let anxious looks Give place to mirth and smiles. Come, come, my lads, put up your _slates_, And run and fetch your _tiles_!
Now off they go, Dick, Tom, and Joe, Just like a pack of hounds; With vicar, crier, and beadle too, To beat the parish bounds.
Away, away, By bank and brae, By footway and by highway: Each lane a Lad-lane now becomes, And ev'ry way a Boy-way.
At ev'ry well Their notes they swell,— One's in the water thrown; Where he this moral lesson learns:— "Always let _well_ alone."
And then at night, Oh! what delight To hear the pipes of Pan! And see the old connexion still Kept up 'twixt _May_ and _Can_!
While maidens bound The May-pole round, With hearts and footsteps light: And near the _Pole_ a _booth_ is found, A _Boothia Felix_ quite.
At least 'twas so Some years ago, Ere wisdom oped our eyes; And farthing folks, with penny mags, Made people penny wise.
But, nowadays, We've no such Mays: Unpluck'd now blows the hawthorn. A May-pole I no more can find Than Parry can the _northern_.
Our Johnny raws Read Newton's laws, All merriment unheeding; And, poring over the _Laws of Light_, Imagine it light reading.