Thus all our hopes that were
To have an heir unto the Throne
Are all thrown to the air.”
Here is a ballad on a policeman of the old style when the new regulations came in, in 1829:—
“Upon his beat he stood to take a last farewell
Of his lantern and his little box wherein he oft did dwell.
He listen’d to the clock, so familiar to his ear,
And with the tail of his drab coat he wiped away a tear.
“Beside that watchhouse door a girl was standing close,
Who held a pocket handkerchief, with which she blew her nose.