GOING TO ST. PAUL'S.
Oh! 'tis a glorious sight to see
Those rosy little chaps,
Decked by the hand of charity,
In graceful muffin caps.
Yet wherefore place their calves so small
In unbecoming leathers,
Exposing their slight legs to all
Varieties of weathers?
When looking at those slender legs,
We feel a thousand pangs,
To think how fragile are the pegs
On which existence hangs.
Sure one must have a heart of stone
Those urchins to abandon!
How little—were they left alone—
They'd have, alas! to stand on.
The very cap they're doomed to wear,
Has cruel mockery in it;
Type of a luxury so rare
They ne'er can hope to win it.
'Twas mockery on those heads which placed
The emblem of the muffin;
A treat they can't expect to taste—
Those boys all born to nuffin.
Not Tantalus, who strove in vain
To grasp the luscious berry
(His fate suggested, 'tis quite plain,
The pastime of bob-cherry);
Not Tantalus was doomed to bear
More than those luckless chaps,
Who, muffinless, must ever wear
Those tempting muffin caps.