The Ingoldsby Lyrics :: :: University of Virginia Library

Scene.—Exterior of Guildhall on the 9th of November—Constables, City Marshals, Watchmen, Fishfags, etc., bivouacking in front—Sir Claudius Hunter is seen through the doorway wringing his hands, and tearing the curling papers out of his hair.

Swing! Swing!
'Tis a terrible thing
To get an epistle from Captain Swing!

Sir Claud has got one,
Now he's off like a gun,
“My Lord May'r! My Lord May'r, we're for ever undone!
Here's a Plot! Here's a Plot!
My Lord May'r, I declare
The Devil knows what,
And the Devil knows where!
You run to the Duke, while I run to the King,
And show him my note from that terrible Swing!”

See he mounts his white horse,
And adown Charing Cross,
Ye Gods! how he goes,
With his knees to his nose,
His heels turning inwards, and outwards his toes!
“Sir Robert, come down,
They'll set fire to the town,
And burn my Lord May'r in his gold chain and gown
Tell the King, tell the King
To be sure not to bring
The Duke to Guildhall—he'll be swallow'd by Swing!”

Up jumps Sir Charles Flower,
“Fetch the Guards from the Tower,

Or that Swing all the ‘wittles’ will come and ‘dewour,’
The ‘Wen'son’ and ‘Weal,’
And the wild-ducks and teal,
How he'll gobble the turtle as though 'twas cow-heel.
Lack-a-daisy! Dear me!
My Lord Key! My Lord Key!
Who has seen my Lord May'r? where the d—l can he be?
Beat the drums, blow the horns, and make all the bells ring,
Here's a letter just come from that terrible Swing!”

Up jumps Mr. Hobler,
The Aldermen's cobbler,
Who mends each decision
In need of revision,
“Let me read, let me read!
Ay, here's treason indeed!
Oh! what shall we do? Oh! how shall we proceed?

“Fall in! Fall in!
Short and Tall, Fat and Thin,
We must all of us arm, so we'd better begin;
Fall in, Prestissimo!
Bravo! Bravissimo!
That's right, and now I'll be your Generalissimo!

Here's Alderman Wood,
‘So Wise and so Good,’
As stout a soldier as ever stood;
Here's gallant Farebrother,
Just such another,
With ex-Lord Mayor Crowder,
None ever looked prouder;
You may see by his head that he'll never spare powder;
And here comes a man full of valour and pith,
Magnanimous Joshua Jonathan Smith!

“Fall in three deep!
Don't be playing bo-peep
Behind there—d'ye hear—
You M.P.'s in the rear?
Lord Waithman and Thompson, what is it you fear?
Mr. Deputy Oldham,
Do, pray, go and scold 'em,
And make 'em come here to the front, as I told 'em,
Sir Peter, you're a Knight,
And must know how to fight;
Sir John Perring's the left, so you look to the right;
And lead on that bevy
Of troops, light and heavy,
With your black-handled sword that you wore at the Levée.

“Here's Wenables, Alderman Lucas, and Flower;
Atkins lives out of town—he'll be here in an hour;
Why, aye, here's a body-guard fit for a King,
We'll tickle your toby, be sure, Mr. Swing!”

Here he comes, here's Sir Claud; how he rides and he bawls;
How he gallops through Fleet Street, and round by St. Paul's;
Now he roars might and main,
“You may go home again;
Cease your fifing and drumming,
The King ain't a-coming!”
So all the consarn, you perceive, ends a hum in.
Alack for the Nation!
Our grand preparation
Must all be “deferred for another occasion.”

But the meat,
Who's to eat
All we've dressed for the treat?
What becomes of the scaffolding rais'd in the street?
And where's the five shillings I've paid for my seat?
Do, Ex-Sheriff Kelly,
Just hand one a jelly;

Sir Charles, as you're picking
The bones of that chicken,
Pray send me the gizzard, a leg, or a wing;
'Tis a shame, so it is, and a scandalous thing,
To be balked of one's “wittles” in this way by Swing!

(The Bivouack breaks up in confusion—a rush towards the tables— general scramble—Sir Charles Flower has his fork at his mouth when a jog of the elbow pops it into his eye—Sir Claudius rides off on his white horse with a haunch of venison under his arm, and a hot lobster in each of his holsters—The Lord Mayor is tumbled into a tureen, and smothered—Mr. Figgins falls into a fricandeau, the Recorder into a fit, and Alderman Atkins into the fire—The Grand Glass Star comes down with a crash—Magog is overturned on the heads of the Common Council—The Livery mount and dance a Mazourka on the high table—Crish—Crash—Dash—Smash.—The Curtain falls, amidst general uproar and confusion, as in the devilry scene of Der Freischutz.]