The Bunhill Row Artillery.
But bolder yet that troop must grow,
Or, London conquered by the foe,
The Gallic cock will proudly crow
On Temple Bar right merrily.
’Tis morn—but Specials in a swoon,
Won’t reach the Mansion House by noon,
Where frantic Gibbs and “pale-faced Moon”[18]
Groan in the butler’s pan-t-ry.
The combat deepens—on ye brave,