Begins the civic sceptre of the Mansion House to sway;
Blythe the self congratulation—sad the wail of discontent,
As the one gets into office, and the other out is sent.
From the plains of fair Belgravia, from Tyburnia and the north,
Troops of ruddy servant maidens on their holiday come forth,
Each with snowy kerchiefs laden, which they never will unfold,
Going wildly in directions just wherever they are told.
* * * * *
Twenty-two verses follow here, describing the Lord Mayor’s procession and banquet, topics which do not suggest any novelty to the poet, who concludes thus:—
Let us hope that in the waking from the darkness to the light,