Improvement tolls the knell of what, of yore,
We loved, and May-day garlands have gone by;
And Charleys on their posts now sleep no more,
But hourly weep the hours they used to cry!
No more grim heads, each stuck upon a pike,
On lookers up from Temple Bar look down;
The strikers at St. Dunstan’s cease to strike,
They gave a quarter’s notice, and left town.
(And, could St. Dunstan’s club-mates club to dine,
Their “marble jaws” would make a curious clatter;