Let them come forth, and their banners unfurl,
With their mischievous motto, “Wealth’s all my eye;”
Go back, silly mortals, and mind the small fry,
And we’ll give a shout of exuberant joy,
For our great benefactor, that broth of a boy,
Who never deserts us in time of great need,—
Noble patron, we heartily wish thee God speed!
Thy bounty has blest many a worthy civilian,
And given enjoyment and fun to the million.
Our Whitsuntide fêtes on the Castle to wit: