August fifth! come, haste away!
To Billingsgate the thousands run;
’Tis oyster day!—’tis oyster day!
Now, at the corner of the street,
With oysters fine the tent is filled;
The cockney stops to have a treat,
Prepared by one in opening skilled.
Shake off the beard—as quick as thought
The pointed knife divides the flesh;—
What plates are laden, loads are brought,