The turtle-soup prepare;
Reft of majority, he shares the feast:
Close by the Lord Mayor’s chair
The civic magnates scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
A voice as of a financier
Gales from blooming Budgets bear;
And distant surpluses thrill on my ear,
And lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think’st thou thy sanguine cloud