With a pail in each hand to catch their own tears,
They both weep in anguish and been heard to say
The days of our pastime are faded away.
Then comes the Lord Mayor—he makes it a rule,
He rides on the back of an Abyssinian mule;
The great Lady Mayoress, if her sight does not fail,
She sits on behind, and holds on to his tail.
All the old Companies have gone to the wall,
No old blokes in livery was there at all;
The flags and the banners, as I’m a sinner,