And then forthwith his speech he wrote,—
His breakfast hurried down his throat;
With eager haste stalk’d through the street,
The B——p’s Reverence to meet;
And anxious still to see his Grace,
Chided the coachman’s tardy pace,
Whose stupid, senseless, dull delay,
Might spoil the pleasures of the day.
But now, behold, the prelate comes!
“Sound, sound the trumpets, beat the drums!”