By his own factious set,
Placed by the chairman’s side,
Sate Piccadilly’s pride,
With airs of coy regret.
His noisy friends were ranged about,
With dirty shirts, and pots of heady stout:
Meet dress, meet drink for such a rout!
The valiant Cochrane, by his side,
Sate, snappish, yet self satisfied,
In naval garb and northern pride.