Orange Lodge.
Smoke rules the roast! November, foggy, drear;
Oh! when from darkness will its days desist?
Month of suspicion, that leaves all to clear,
For though nought's stolen, everything is mist!
It is a bully month, whose vapouring flies
Wherever man is found, or woman walks;
An equal favourer of dis-guise and Guys,
Assassin patron both of knives and Faukes!