Four gallant knights with lances come, in silver armour drest;
Look how their war-steeds gracefully lift up their well-trained feet,
While underneath their iron hoofs resounds the stony street;
So stamp they when at Sanger’s Cirque, in Bosworth’s mimic fight,
They Richmond or brave Surrey bear, or some great mail-clad knight.
How can one human pen suffice to paint this varying Show,
Where Watermen with standards gay in long procession flow?
Where Lancers, true to Bacchus, the monarch of the vine,
Escort the mighty Vintners with band and strains divine;
Where proudly the “Swan-hoppers” bear the banners of the Guild,