From the greatest event of the year, when the words of ripe wisdom, well wined,
Should fall from grave turtle-fed lips to make heasy the poor Public mind,
As when PALMERSTON, DIZZY, and SALISBURY, spoke from that time-honoured Chair!
And that GLADSTONE—he ain’t no great loss!—but to think the Woodchopper should dare
To neglect his fust duty like this!!! Oh! it’s Ikybod, just as you say,
My GOG. Civic glory’s burst up, and the splendour of Lord Mayor’s Day
Is eclipsed by that L.C.C. lot and their backers. I’m full, GOG, of fears;
The look-out’s enough to depress us, and move the poor Turtle to tears.
It’s Ikybod, Ikybod, Ikybod! Oh, for the days that were gayer,
No GLADSTONE, no ROSEBERY, no HARCOURT!!! Wy, next we shall have no Lord Mayor!