THE LAST LORD MAYOR TO HIS FAVOURITE BEADLE.
You must wake and call me early, call me early, Bumble, dear,
I mean to fight with all my might each minute of this year;
For a play is in rehearsal now—a tragic, terrible play—
And I'm to be Griffin at Bay, Bumble, I'm to be Griffin at Bay!
I'll fight from morn till night, Bumble—my soul must never quake—
For calipash and calipee and Corporation's sake;
And I must don the lion's skin, although I can but bray,
For I'm to be Griffin at Bay, Bumble, I'm to be Griffin at Bay!
When I was in the Commons, whom think ye I should see,
But Harcourt smiling on his seat, just close to William G.?
He thought not of the feed, Bumble, we gave him t'other day—
But I will be Griffin at Bay, Bumble, I will be Griffin at Bay!
They want to wreck, with sinful hand, our great time-honoured powers,
And take away the wealth and might which have so long been ours;
But I will roar and bluster, in my old accustomed way,
For I'm to be Griffin at Bay, Bumble, I'm to be Griffin at Bay!
Go, summons all my aldermen, and bid them take their fill,
From terror free let them with me all gaily feast and swill;
Reform need have no fears for them, so bid them all be gay,
For I'm to be Griffin at Bay, Bumble, I'm to be Griffin at Bay!
Four other parodies, which had been sent in for competition, were also printed:—