There are met at Victoria no end
Of Serenities hasting to Dover,
Of Transparencies bound for Ostend
While the Queen, with a thankful expression,
Packs her bag and portmanteau for Cowes;
Albert E. leaves the cook in possession
As he migrates from Marlborough House.
The beau monde copies Royalty’s caper,
And (excepting mere tradesmen and boors)
Every soul shrouds his window in paper,