Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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INSTALLATION AT WINDSOR. |
 | Mirth and Metre |  |
INSTALLATION AT WINDSOR.
I Went down to gaze
At the Windsor sights,
Where they spent three days
All in making knights;
For a bed, d'ye see,
Five pounds they ax'd—od rot it,
They'd not get that from me,
Because—I hadn't got it.
At the Windsor sights,
Where they spent three days
All in making knights;
For a bed, d'ye see,
Five pounds they ax'd—od rot it,
They'd not get that from me,
Because—I hadn't got it.
I wanted to get in
And mix among the great;
So, with a tightish din,
I knock'd at castle gate;
Out came one of rank,
Ax'd me for my ticket—
I said 'twere drawn a blank,
And so he shut the wicket.
And mix among the great;
So, with a tightish din,
I knock'd at castle gate;
Out came one of rank,
Ax'd me for my ticket—
I said 'twere drawn a blank,
And so he shut the wicket.
249
Since I nought could see,
Report is all I've for't,
Tho' it seems to me
Knight-making's querish sport;
A sword the king draws smack,
Knights kneel down like martyrs;
He gives 'em all a whack,
And then ties on their garters.
Report is all I've for't,
Tho' it seems to me
Knight-making's querish sport;
A sword the king draws smack,
Knights kneel down like martyrs;
He gives 'em all a whack,
And then ties on their garters.
What follows, on my word,
Is treatment rather coarse,
Ev'ry knight gets spur'd
And collar'd like a horse;
A title him they call,
Sir Richard, or Sir Robin,
Then tie him to a stall
As I ties our blind Dobbin.
Is treatment rather coarse,
Ev'ry knight gets spur'd
And collar'd like a horse;
A title him they call,
Sir Richard, or Sir Robin,
Then tie him to a stall
As I ties our blind Dobbin.
Eight o'clock at night
They let us in to dine;
All scrambled for their right,
I got a brave sirloin.
In a battle brief
The prize was from me taken—
So I lost my beef,
And couldn't save my bacon.
[Rubbing his shoulders as if he
had been well beaten.
They let us in to dine;
All scrambled for their right,
I got a brave sirloin.
In a battle brief
The prize was from me taken—
So I lost my beef,
And couldn't save my bacon.
King gave silver drums
To Oxford Blues so starch,
When Mr. Bony comes
To play him the Rogue's March;
But, if he should come
Here, I'ze lay a wager,
We'll make his head a drum—
Oh! I'd like to be drum-major.
To Oxford Blues so starch,
When Mr. Bony comes
To play him the Rogue's March;
But, if he should come
Here, I'ze lay a wager,
We'll make his head a drum—
Oh! I'd like to be drum-major.
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