And silence now settles upon
The Last of the Guards—MOSES NOBBS!
Yet oblivion shall not descend
On that name till a stave hath been sung.
The Muse is antiquity's friend,
And in praise of the past will give tongue.
If CRACKNALL, the Tantivy Whip,
Claimed song, they're but parvenu snobs
Who say that the lyre should let slip
The memory of stout MOSES NOBBS.