Or a wild Jingo speech by his lordship Jaw Jamilton.
Not a sigh shall escape for the relic that’s gone.
Nor a thought be bestowed on one rotten old stone;
But till London shall tumble
To pieces and crumble,
And bookworms shall stumble, and mumble, and fumble
O’er records fantastic,
With lore periphrastic;
Till memory fail
And custom grow stale,