And tipplers elsewhere seek their grog and malt,
And Canon Cromwell swells the note of praise.
Can photograph or picture from the dust
The glories of a Ranelagh bequeath?
Like Highbury and Vauxhall, Cremorne must
The auctioneer’s dread hammer fall beneath.
Oft have stern magistrates, in angry tone,
Its garish gaiety and “larks” maligned,
Forbade its reckless frolics with a groan,
And shut the gates of Cremorne on mankind.