With master and with wardens comes many a carriage filled;
While onwards without ceasing stream more banners, knights, and bands,
And louder still the people cheer, still louder clap their hands.
Ho, guildsmen, all your banners wave! ho, gaily ring, ye bells!
Ho, trumpets, sound a flourish! ho, urchins, shriek your yells!
Thou coachman, drive on furiously; ye horses swiftly stride;
Speed on that glorious coach which bears our Lord Mayor in his pride.
No sun shone on those panels decked with classic subjects old;
The mists of damp November dimmed its hammercloth of gold;
Still boys at its great Jehu stared, and their tears began to flow,