They stately ride, with their grooms beside—no doubt, to hold them on.
'Tis the Mayor, of course, outside a horse, with the sword of state before him,
He looks, in his pride, from side to side. How the 'prentice boys adore him!
Hurrah! Hurrah! she comes this way—stand firm to see her pass!
Well, what have you seen?—why, not the Queen, but the glare of the window glass.
Oh, I'm going wild! have you seen my child? from above I let him fall.—
Yes, there he rolls on the people's polls, and he'll soon be at Guildhall.
That little crowd, they scream so loud, it pierces thro' and thro' you;
It's all the charity girls and boys a-singing "Hallelujah,"
And "Live the Queen"—'tis a lovely scene—did you hear that cracking note?—