That Feast of BELSHAZZER weren’t in it for worritting warnings of woe;
Which our beautiful Annual Banquet will soon not be worth half a blow.
It’s not half a blow-out as it is, not compared with old glorious gorges.
I wish, oh I wish, MAGOG mine, we was back in the times of the GEORGES,
Or even DICK WHITTINGTON’s days, which for Giants was quite good enough;
But they’ve spoilt all the good things of life with their Science, and Progress, and stuff.
I see how it’s drifting, dear MAGOG. The Munching House and the Gildhall.
Did use to be London’s fust pride. Is it so in these days? Not at all!
Whippersnappers cock snooks at us, MAGOG; A ignerent pert L.C.C.,
To whom Calipash is a mistry, whose soul never loved Calipee,