For when I reflect, my heart leaps with joy—
What I saw in my dream in old “So be I,”
For thousands were shouting on that pleasant day.
We are all “So be I’s,” hip, hip, hip hurrah!
And I took the first chance to ask what it meant,
Of the people who shouted, what was their intent,
When an elderly lady soon gave me the cue,
Of what was the matter and what was to do.
Six great millocrats, call them Whigs if you will,
The gods of our labour in workshop and mill:
Have all turned their colours from Yellow to Blue,
Which has caused this commotion the city all through.
Led on by the nose, like a bull in a band,
See how all the “So be I’s” follow so grand,
The fag and the artist, the plebian also,
Have now chang’d their colour from yellow to blue.
There’s twenty-eight thousand true “So be I’s” here,
And there’s not a Liberal amongst them I’ll swear,
For the millocrats chieftains proclaimed it they say,
That all must turn Tories on this very day.
So upon the procession, I did my eyes fix,
Reviewing and skewing this wonderful six;
They wore blue ribands so grand in their coats,
Singing “So be I” joskins come give us your votes.
The “So be I’s” exerted each nerve and limb,
To follow their leaders and join in the swim;
And I plainly could see, so I thought in my dream,
That the way through the world is to follow the stream.
For the faces of parsons were lit up so bright,
And the doctors they smiled with the greatest delight;
And a lawyer he vowed that he’d have a Blue gown,
For he’d been long enough a black Liberal clown.
Methought the Ranters, and Methodies too,
Independents and Quakers, and Baptists, were blue;
And as I looked round me, lo! what did I see,
A batch of Teetotallers had got on the spree.
But what I considered the best of the sport,
Took place in front of the old County Court;
The Mayor and Ex-Mayor were dancing a jig,
With the County Court Judge in his gown and his wig.