Can we smile when we know what their votaries say?
Oh! false as the curls of their ancientest belle,
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
Punch, December, 1846.
The Foreigner’s Lay of London.
Know ye the town where policemen and navvies,
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime!
Where the noise of the clocks, and the cries of the tabbies,
E’er rouse you to madness o’er roofs as they climb?