 | May Fair |  |
Dear to my soul art thou, May Fair!
There Greatness breathes her native air;
There Fashion in her glory sits,
Sole spot still unprofaned by Cits.
There all the mushroom, trading tribe
In vain would bully or would bribe:
The Rothschilds, Couttses, Goldsmids, Barings,
In other spots must have their pairings;
We fix your bounds, ye rich and silly,
Along the road by Piccadilly;
Convenient spot for the approaches
Of Cousins who keep hackney-coaches;
And duly, (if the Sunday's fine,)
Come down to pudding and port wine;
Or drop, like pigeons from a cage,
Six insides from the shilling stage.
There Greatness breathes her native air;
There Fashion in her glory sits,
Sole spot still unprofaned by Cits.
There all the mushroom, trading tribe
In vain would bully or would bribe:
11
In other spots must have their pairings;
We fix your bounds, ye rich and silly,
Along the road by Piccadilly;
Convenient spot for the approaches
Of Cousins who keep hackney-coaches;
And duly, (if the Sunday's fine,)
Come down to pudding and port wine;
Or drop, like pigeons from a cage,
Six insides from the shilling stage.
| May Fair | |