And drive the economists out of their wits,
From Lords Waithman and Wood, to Lord John.
"'But I now left the pageant—wits, worthies, and all—
And flew through the smoke to the roof of Guildhall,
And perched on the grand chandelier;
The dinner was stately, the tables were full—
There sat, multiplied by three thousand, John Bull,
Resolved to make all disappear.
"'And then came the speeches; Lord Hunter was fine—
Lord Wood, finer still—Lord Thompson, divine,