For them no dame shall plan the brilliant ball,
Nor Mr. Speaker ply his evening care:
No lacqueys bow before them through the hall,
Nor scream their titles up the crowded stair.
Oft does the dray their sturdy strength invite,
Their harden’d hands oft haul the stubborn rope,—
How jocund do they shut their shops at night!
How smirk their chins beneath the Sunday soap!
Let not nice Nugent mock their useful toil,
Their ill cut raiment, or their homely food,