'696 The Last Words of the Men at St. Dunstaris. [D E c. 



But 'tis done swept off for ever 



All our triumphs now are o'er ; 

 Such a glorious trio never, 



Since creation, fell before. 

 Yet he fought as he retired, 

 And at us his last shot fired. 



Yes, at us w,ho disappointed 



That the King should keep afar, 

 Longed to see a Lord's Anointed 



Come on this side Temple-bar. 

 When, while we were waiting there, 

 Lo ! a Letter to the Mayor ! 



Then, oh ! then, for Birch and Gunter, 

 How we grieved ; and sighed of course, 



O'er our hopes of horse and Hunter 

 Such a Hunter such a horse 



Pallid palfry ! to eclipse 



Him of the Apocalypse ! 



We who, standing like two sentries, 



Are at least two centuries old 

 We who loved these public entries, 



Gartered lords all gout and gold, 

 Knights and nonsense, giants, boys, 

 Fudge, and finery, and noise 



We were thus debarred from viewing 



This, the triumph of the town ; 

 And to finish our undoing, 



Like his Grace, were taken down 

 Sold, and sent, by two or three gents., 

 To adorn a park the Regent's. 



Now we much desire to know 



But our hopes are dying embers 

 Why our clubs must westward go, 



Where they've far more clubs than members ? 

 By the way we've just bethought us 

 Why on earth Lord Hertford bought us ? 



If some classic female taste 



Hath for us a predilection, 

 Sure he'll let our limbs be graced 



With whate'er defies inspection. 

 Ladies peeping, we might scare *em, 

 In that snug sub-urban Harem. 



Yet in vain his lordship's labour, 



When he panted to possess 

 Our illustrious statued neighbour, 



Glorious, golden-sceptered Bess ! 

 Scandal 'twere that such a scene 

 Should receive the Virgin Queen 1 



But farewell ! we ask no pity, 



And, like transports, bid adieu ! 

 Farewell to the sighing city 



Gayer spots we go to view. 

 Fleet-street, haunt of gas and glee, 

 Fun is not confined to thee ! B. 



