ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
No, no! A natural alarm, but needless!
'Tis true subversive dolts in these sad times
Do call on you to flourish and to feed less,
And hint that pomp and turtle soup are crimes.
The sour fanatics!
Scribblers who'd set the world straight from their attics.
But they will never dare—the dastards, No!—
To stop the Lord Mayor's Show.
Your fright, my Lord, 's a pardonable error.
The Proclamation can't apply to you.
No one, I'm sure, can take you for a Terror,
Red, white, or any other tint or hue.
Are you "disorderly"?
No; you within legality's trim-kept border lie;
From touching you even almighty Law
Would shrink with utter awe.
True you "perambulate the streets." What noddy
Objects? You do not "break into a run,"
And as to "terrorising" anybody,
No one could hint at that, except in fun.
"Hooting and yelling"
Are not your vocal habits. Warren's belling
The Cat of Anarchy; he'll tell you that.
You are not quite that Cat.
It's claws are showing, and they may want clipping,
And shindy in the streets is just a pest;
But Law, though lately once or twice found tripping,
Won't interfere with the calm Civic nest.
Matthews seems heedless,
And "shoves his oar in" in a style most needless;
But even he would hardly raise his clutch
The sacred Ninth to touch.
No, a good rule may have a good exception.
You're popular, pass on! Rowdies and raff
Need raps. Let him in civism adept, shun
The spouter's bawling, and the Bobby's staff.
Mad mobs in Town
Are a vile nuisance that must be put down;
But you're not a "Procession," don't you know,—
You are—a "Show"!