But no more need of cavil now, the fact's as plain as day,
They're carting the boilers away, mother, they're carting the boilers away.
Good taste had slept so sound, mother, I thought t'would never wake.
But the Press, at last, has given it a most decided shake;
Yes, at length it's up and doing, oh! and isn't Brompton gay
While they re carting its boilers away, mother, they're carting its boilers away!
As I came up from Knightsbridge whom think ye I should see,
But, Mr. Cole, my ancient friend, best known as our C.B.!
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday—
And he carted the boilers away, mother, he carted the boilers away.