Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air. Went the high-trotting mare at a deuce of a pace; Save fright'ning a nurse with a child on her arm, Two urchins at play, Knocking down-very much to the sweeper's dismay-- Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks squall. Through Temple Bar, My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car; Or their calls, or their bawls, He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls, Where, in front of the jail, he Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily The clock strikes Twelve-it is dark midnight- The parties are met; The tables are set; There is "punch," "cold without," "hot with," "heavy wet,” Ale-glasses and jugs, And rummers and mugs, And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs, Cold fowl and cigars, Pickled onions in jars, Welsh rabbits, and kidneys-rare work for the jaws !- And there is M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues, The clock strikes One! Supper is done, And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun, My Lord Tomnoddy Is drinking gin-toddy, And laughing at ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body. The clock strikes Two!—and the clock strikes Three! -"Who so merry, so merry as we ?" Save Captain M'Fuze, Who is taking a snooze, While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work, The clock strikes Four! Round the debtors' door Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more; At the press-yard gate, Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks. The clock strikes Five! The sheriffs arrive, And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive; But Sir Carnaby Jenks Blinks, and winks, A candle burns down in the socket, and stinks. Is dreaming of Jews, And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse; Has drunk all his toddy, And just as the dawn is beginning to peep, Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks, Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks; As that which its course has now begun, And hark!-a sound comes big with fate, The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes-Eight!— List to that low funereal bell: It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell! And see!—from forth that opening door They come-He steps that threshold o'er Who never shall tread upon threshold more. Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky, Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er Again that clock !-'tis time, 'tis time! And Captain M'Fuze, with the black on his nose; And they stared at each other, as much as to say "Hollo! Hollo! Here's a Rum Go! Why, Captain!-my Lord!-Here's the Devil to pay! The fellow's been cut down and taken away! What's to be done? We've miss'd all the fun! Why, they'll laugh at, and quiz us all over the town, What was to be done?-'twas perfectly plain EPIGRAM. 'Tis strange, amid the many trades To those who make our breeches ! Rich is the harvest made: Then call not theirs, unseemly wags! R. J. |