GRAND SCENA FROM OBERON.
Enter from a Hotel, Sir Huon, without his Coat.
RECITATIVE.
Yes, even clothes the pay must yield,
No carpet bag have I;
The Paper be my battle field—
I'm fleeced! my battle cry.
AIR.
O, 'tis a monstrous sight to see
The charge of the British Hostelry,
Its plunderings over aghast we go,
With glances adding each long, long row!
One's shocked as one glances; we shiver all,
Though we shiver quite in vain—
They have raised such a total, we, rampant, call
On the Landlord to explain.
Charge ten shillings for breakfast and bed!
Dinner reckoned at eight per head!
Are things raised again, though Protection's no more?
For your bills are as of yore!
I say, 'I'm done! Tea, two for one?
Your crumpets startle my father's son!
And my senses are whirled to the winds afar,
By your wax-lights, Attendance, Et Cætera!
Mourn, ye Knaves in the Public line,
Your swindles lie stark in the broad sunshine,
The guests whom you sheared ere you let them go
Have made all the world your extortion know!
Joy to the moderate hosts of France!
Custom waits upon wise finance;
Joy to your honest Yankee men!
Their guests are all travelling back again.
There they go—the shaved ones see,
Who are grumbling at British Roguery.
Take the bill—the items pare,
Fill with cheap wine the bottle fair,
Strike off half—'t will still be high—
When we've won the victory!
The Horse-Marines.—The poor horses that draw the Bathing Machines.