University of Virginia Library

Scene First.

—Interior of Guildhall (looking west)—The statues of Gog and Magog are seen occupying their proper position in the angles on each side of the great west window —Night—the Genius of the City of London is discovered asleep—St. Paul's is heard to strike midnight.
Enter Time.
Song—Time—“Gavotte de Vestris.”

Lon.
(waking)
King Lud! who's making such a horrid riot?
Why won't you let the City sleep in quiet?

Time.
It's Time; as I was passing o'er Guildhall
I thought I'd just give you a morning call.

Lon.
A morning call! why, what's the time by you?

Time.
Past twelve!

Lon.
D'ye call that morning?

Time.
Yes, I do.

Lon.
I don't, and so good night.

Time.
You'd best take warning.
You may not live to see what you call morning.

Lon.
(rising hastily)
Good Gracious Street! What do you mean? Explain.
Am I on fire again in Pudding Lane?
Or is an earthquake likely up to swallow me?

Time.
Can't tell. I never know what ills may follow me.
I only say, when I am here, don't lose me,
And then for your own negligence abuse me;
When the steed's stolen folks the stable-door lock,
Though they've been told to take Time by the forelock.

Lon.
The proverb's somewhat musty.

Time.
From neglect;
Like many things in London, I suspect.

Lon.
You're saucy!

Time.
No, I'm only plain and true.
Time has done wonders in his time for you,
And now that he has brought you to maturity,
Thinks you should do a little for futurity.

Lon.
It's my belief you're one of the committee
That has been lately sitting on the City,
Calling me over my own coals, and making
A fuss about the money I've been taking,
Bidding me set my Mansion House in order,
And of my sentence be my own Recorder.

Time.
Well, Time has had a hand in it, I own;
I am a watchman, on my beat well-known,
And, if folks stop the way of Progress just,
I cry, “Move on, there!” and move on they must.

Lon.
And have I not obeyed you in my movements?
Look at the thousands I've spent on improvements.
Haven't I cleared out Smithfield's pens and stalls,
And opened Cannon Street up to St. Paul's?

Time.
So far so good; but don't stop at the corner,
Or I shall cry “Move on!”

Lon.
Unmannered warner!
Move on yourself.

Time.
I do—my sands still run;
Although you heed him not, Time flies.
(St. Paul's strikes one)
Past one!

(Exit)
Lon.
His voice to me is like a raven's croaking!
What right has Time his old nose to come poking
Into Guildhall, and up such matters stir?
The City has its own Remembrancer.
His doleful ditty has disturbed me quite,
And I shan't get another wink to-night.
What's to be done? This state of things can't last,
Can I no wisdom gather from the past?
(turning to Gog and Magog)
Oh, my right trusty, well-belovèd giants,
Who on approaching foes still frown defiance,
Stupendous relics of my ancient state,
All I have left—unquestionably great!
Have you no word upon this theme to say, Gog?
Can you not comfort me, most mighty Magog?
Your wondrous wooden heads together lay,
And of my Common Council be to-day.
(they roll their eyes)
Roll not your goggle eyes in grandeur dumb;
Speak out like honest giants.

Giants.
Fee-fo-fum!

Lon.
Pshaw! Fee-fo-fum's an answer vague and cursory,
You speak like giants just out of the nursery.
Can't you talk common sense?
(they shake their heads)
They shake their shockheads—
I fear they're but a monstrous pair of blockheads.

Music—Lord Mayor's Fool rises from trap.
Fool.
Of course they are; but they are not the first
You've called to council, nor perhaps the worst.

Lon.
And who art thou that dare the City school?

Fool.
The City ought to know the Lord Mayor's Fool.

Lon.
The Lord Mayor's Fool? there's not been one for ages.

Fool.
Because folks play the fool without the wages,
And therefore are much greater fools than me.

Lon.
You're not the fool I took you for, I see.
How came you at this moment up to cast?

Fool.
You wished to gather wisdom from the past,
And that to do you first must see its folly,
And here I am, alive again and jolly,

Lon.
And what have you to shew me, pray, beside?

Fool.
Something you used to shew yourself with pride.

(the end of the Hall opens, and discovers a dense yellow fog.
Lon.
What's that?

Fool.
The Lord Mayor's Show.

Lon.
The Lord Mayor's Show?
I can see nothing like it.

Fool.
Song—Fool—“Remember, remember the Fifth of November.”

Lon.
Is this the way you would the City cheer up?
I still am in a fog, which you must clear up.

Fool.
Oh, pardon me, I'll do so in a minute,
And you shall judge the worth of what there's in it.

(Music—The fog clears off, and the Lord Mayor's Show is seen by water and land.)
Lon.
Why shew me what I've seen so oft before?

Fool.
Because you may not see it any more!

(scene closes)
Lon.
They're both in the same strain; both Time and Folly
Seem bent on making London melancholy.
Why has this rage arisen, down to run
The greatest city now beneath the sun?

Fool.
The greatest now beneath the moon, I say.

Lon.
Song—London—“Rise, Gentle Moon.”

(scene draws, and discovers the Moon, nearly at the full, and attended by its Satellites)
Lon.
Great luminary of—

Fool.
“He knows thy thought;
Hear his speech, but say thou nought.”

Lon.
He! his? All things are changed upon my word;
It was “the lady moon,” 'tis now “my lord”

Moon.
In the moon's changing there is nothing new.

Lon.
Granted; but I desire no change in you,
For by this light discern full well I can
The gentle moon is quite the gentleman.

Moon.
I'm flattered by the City's approbation,
And sorry I possess no information
Upon the point which gives you such affliction;
The matter's not within my jurisdiction.
The cause by which you will be saved or undone
Is tried at Westminster, and not in London;
And, really, whether you will lose or win it,
The moon knows no more than the man that's in it.

(scene closes)
Lon.
At Westminster? Ah! then my doom is sealed,
And to my younger sister I must yield;
Or, playing once again a Roman part,
The dagger in my arms strike to my heart;
Or set the sword-bearer 'gainst London Wall,
And on the unsheathed weapon nobly fall!

Fool.
Who'd be the fool then, madam—I or you?
Live and improve, as London ought to do.

Lon.
What! and to Westminster's dictation bow?
Let her improve herself—she needs—
(noise of a carriage driving rapidly up, followed by a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door)
How now?
Who knocks as if my door they meant to split?

(Music—Fool opens the door, and Westminster enters in mediæval costume.)
Fool.
Talk of the devil—Westminster to wit.

West.
How d'ye do, sister?

Lon.
(turns her back on her)
Matchless impudence!

West.
“Now do I fear I've done some grave offence
That looks disgracious in the City's eye,”
As Glo'ster says to the Lord Mayor; or why
Should London turn from Westminster so coldly?

Lon.
“Why!” Can you ask that question?

West.
Yes, and boldly.

Lon.
Boldly, indeed! Dost thou not seek my fall?
Would'st not wrench from me cap, sword, mace, and all?
Put down my Show, suppress my Corporation,
Of my own Thames dispute the conservation,
Give my Lord Mayor and Sheriffs both the bag,
Make of my livery mere tag and rag,
Chase Common hunt and silence Common Crier,
Fling all my precious green fat in the fire,
Hang the whole Court of Aldermen in chains,
And leave of London's glory no remains?

West.
You are mistaken; London's glory lies
In her great works and noble charities;
My Parliament is proud of them as you,
And honour gives where honour's justly due.
You're wrong to put yourself in such a passion,
Reform, my dear, is coming into fashion.

Lon.
Reform! My ears are weary of the word.

West.
Song—Westminster—“O! I love, I love the morning.”

Lon.
I fear your habits won't agree with mine;
So late you rise—so very late you dine.

West.
You're getting gradually into my ways,
Your cits are not the cits. of other days;
With all the scorn for Fashion they profess,
They ape her whims, her dinners, and her dress;
And though on 'Change still early hours they keep,
No longer o'er their warehouses they sleep,
But fly for entertainment and fresh air
To Hyde Park Gardens or to Eaton Square.

Lon.
That's true, I own; for eastward after dark
I scarcely now can catch a banker's clerk.
What can they find so charming in the West?

West.
Come, see yourself.

Lon.
I'm tempted, I protest.

West.
Indeed, to tell the truth, I've brought my daughters
To beg you'll pay a visit to their quarters.

Lon.
Your daughters?

West.
Yes, adopted—not by marriage.

Lon.
Where are they?

West.
Waiting outside in the carriage.

Lon.
Pray bring them in,—whilst she a hall can boast,
London will ever be a liberal host.
Where is that fool of mine to ope the door?

Fool.
(at her elbow)
You're just as ne'ar a fool, ma'am, as before!

Lon.
Persuade those ladies to walk in.

Fool.
No fear;
Folly has oft led Fashion, even here.

(Music—Fool goes to door, and returns with Belgravia and Tyburnia in fashionable morning dress.)
Fool.
(announcing)
Ladies Belgravia and Tyburnia!

West.
Here's
Your great aunt, London, wants to know you, dears.

Lon.
(aside)
Expensively got up, and very pretty!
(aloud)
Young ladies, you are welcome to the City.

Bel.
Delighted, madam, I am sure, to know you.

Lon.
I fear I've very little here to shew you.

Tyburn.
Thank you—I think I've been here twice or thrice.

Bel.
I drove here once to ask some man's advice
About some horrid shares that I had got
In a—I really don't remember what;
I know I lost my money, and that's all.

Tyburn.
Look, Bel, there are the giants—ain't they tall?

Fool.
(aside to London)
That girl Belgravia, a few years ago,
Was found in the Five-fields at Pimlico,
So poor, so wild, you might have been afraid of her;
It's wonderful what Westminster has made of her.

Lon.
And I remember, surely, 'tother daughter.

Fool.
Of course—in a low place this side Bayswater;
She was called Tyburn then—of all folks you
Can't well forget where she hung out, or who.

Lon.
Song—London—“Since laws were made.”

Bel.
(advancing)
Mamma informs us you'll do her the honour
Some morning shortly to look in upon her;
Should you be our way, between eight and nine,
We should be charmed if you would stop and dine.

Tyburn.
I'm sure it would delight us beyond measure.

Lon.
I am so busy I've no time for pleasure.

West.
You made me hope just now you'd come to-day.

Bel.
We're going to the races.

Tyburn.
Do come, pray.

Lon.
What races?

Bel.
The New Haymarket Spring Meeting.

Lon.
What stories have they been to me repeating
About there being nothing new to see?

West.
Oh! the old stories—just what they tell me;
But, notwithstanding, when the town's a mind
To be amused, amusement it can find;
So, come, from business you can sure spare one day,
Besides, remember this is Easter Monday,
And that's a holiday for great and small.
You used to have a hunt and give a ball.

Lon.
For some time past I've ceased to hunt or hop,
The chase abandoned, and the ball let drop,
For what with books to keep, and bills to meet,
I scarce can spare an hour except—

Fool.
To eat!

West.
Have you no entertainment but a feast?
You have a theatre or two, at least.

Lon.
Outside my gates there are some four or five,
But really I've no notion how they thrive.

West.
Do let us see them now that we are here.

Lon.
Oh, by all means. My theatres appear!

Music—The City of London and Standard Theatres, the Britannia Saloon and the Eagle Tavern rise, and occupy the stage.
Enter Genius of the City of London.
Song—City of London Theatre—“O! such a town.”
All through the town, through this wonderful metropolis,
Folks are seen their fortunes making every day;
Prints for Potichomanie, and plans for a Necropolis,
Everything is patronised except the play!
In the City actually no one cares about the stage,
And “Bishopsgate Within” remains still Bishopsgate without a stage;
The Drama now has not a booth 'twixt Temple Bar and Aldgate:
So if you want to see her you must come to Norton Folgate;
All through the town, through this wonderful metropolis,
Where everything is patronised except the play.

West.
A startling fact, that in this stirring age,
The City's not advanced a single stage.

Enter Genius of the Standard Theatre.
Song—Standard Theatre—“The Standard Bearer.”
“The flag that braved the battle and the breeze,
A thousand years,” or something very like it,
With pride, Shoreditch above my building sees,
And not to any rival will I strike it!
Beneath it, here, I pick up pelf,
Though for the stage the times are altered and hard,
“The blood of Douglas can protect itself.”
And all the plays produced here must be Standard!

Lon.
Of course they must—there can be no denying
The Standard has come off with colours flying.

Enter Genius of the Britannia.
Song—Britannia Saloon—“Red, White, and Blue.”
“Britannia's the pride of the ocean”
And I'm of Britannia the host;
Of sinking the shop I've no notion,
I'm proud of my sign and my post.
With my dogs and my monkeys so active,
Performers who ne'er miss their cue,
Let them shew me a bill more attractive,
Be it printed in red, black, or blue.

Fool.
The Drama there one consolation sees,—
Her audience may sup porter, if they please.

(an Eagle appears over the portico, of the Eagle Tavern and sings.)
Song—Eagle—“Pop goes the weasel.”
I'm the Bird of Conquest—made
First by Romans famous,
Though “Grecian” my Saloon was named,
By some ignoramus.
“Up and down the City Road,
In and out the Eagle,
That's the way my money comes,
Pop goes the weasel!”

(Eagle disappears)
West.
They seem a jolly party altogether.

Fool.
The Eagle's in remarkably high feather.

West.
And, apropos of feathers, wing your flight
Now to the West with us, and take a sight
At all we have to shew in our gay clime.

Lon.
I've no objection, if I can find Time.

Enter Time.
Time.
For what folks like, Time always can be found.

Fool.
Not to lose Time, then, get over the ground.

Lon.
Would you go to the course?

Fool.
Of course I would;
The Lord Mayor's Fool likes everything that's good,
And in these races there should be good fun.

(Exit)
Lon.
Where is the course, and what the distance run?

West.
All round the town, and up to Whitsuntide,
Then straight down through the season, 'tother side.

Lon.
That's a long way—far as I can discern,
There'll be a few tail off before the turn.

Time.
Come to the course at once; there you will see
All candidates for popularity
Ready for the great Easter Stakes to start.

Lon.
Well, as Time presses, I must needs depart.

Scene changes to
The Grand Stand on the Upsand Downs, overlooking the Race-course in the Field of Speculation.
Time.
There are the Upsand Downs, and far as you
Or I can see, the course o'er them you view;
It has been laid out by Imagination
In the unbounded Field of Speculation.

Lon.
What sums have in that field been won and lost!

West.
Here's the Grand Stand!

Lon.
But where's the Winning Post?

West.
Oh, Time will shew you that.

Time.
It may be here,
Or there, or anywhere—remote or near;
Of speculation once the race begin,
No one can tell at what point he may win
How few that start guess how severe the pace is!

Enter Fool, with cards.
Lon.
(to Fool)
What's this?

Fool.
Fancy's correct card of the races,
Names of the horses, colours of the riders.

West.
Which are the favourites, and which outsiders?

Fool.
State of the betting up to last night.

Bel.
Law!
What are the odds?

Fool.
“As long as you are—”

Bel.
Pshaw!

West.
What horse will you back, London? Come, declare!

Fool.
London is bound, of course, to back her Mayor!

West.
Talking of mares, over the card I pore,
But can't see anywhere L'Etoile du Nord.

Time.
If you mean she that ran at Drury Lane,
I don't much think that she will start again.

West.
I'm told there were some good points her about.

Lon.
As we've got Time, suppose he trots her out.

Music—Enter L'Etoile du Nord, with Jockey.
West.
What if we saw all those who won the last time?

Fool.
Well, really now, that's what I should call pastime!

Time.
In a few minutes that we shall be able,—
Here's Janet Pride from the Adelphi Stable.
Music—Enter Janet Pride, with Jockey.
Prince Prettypet, out of Display, by Beverley.
Music—Enter Prince Prettypet with Jockey.
The Yellow Dwarf young Robson rode so cleverly.

Music—Enter Yellow Dwarf, with Jockey.
Fool.
That horse is with the yellows very ill,
Or else he has been bred on Saffron Hill.

Time.
Louis XI.—the Princess's crack.

Music—Enter Louis XI., with Jockey.
Lon.
He does great credit to his English trainer.

Time.
The Spanish Favorita, “Perea Nena.”
Music—Enter Perea Nena, with Jockey.
D'ye mark the Andalusian blood that's in her?
There's action for you!

Fool.
She looks like a winner.
Nena against the field if she's to run!
Twenty to one upon her!

West.
Done, Fool!

Fool.
Done!

(Bell rings—Exeunt Theatres and Jockeys.)
Time.
Hark! that's the bell for saddling—in a cluster
All that intend to start will shortly muster
To take their gallop just before they run.

West.
Well, sister, don't you like it?—ain't it fun?

Lon.
It's fun for those who win, I must allow;
But many managers are trembling now,
And may be posed, as it's both play and pay,
To meet engagements upon settling day.

West.
Song—Westminster—“Ben Bolt.”

Fool.
Here come the terribly high-mettled cattle!
Off at a killing pace they'll shortly rattle.

Music—Enter the Sultan, with his Jockey.
Time.
Here's the first favourite, in fine condition,
“The Sultan,” out of Turkish Exhibition.

West.
All England backs the Sultan; he must win
The Crescent Stakes.

Fool.
The Czar will drop his tin.

Time.
France has got on him, too, a lot of money.

Lon.
Who rides him?

Time.
A good fellow—Bono Johnny;
Both at Silistria and Eupatoria
He beat Cossack and Muscovite.

Lon.
Victoria!

Fool.
You've heard the last joke running on the turf?
Britannia rules the waves—Russia the serf.

Lon.
What's this, with jockey all black as a coal?

Time.
A very dark horse—Wyld's Sebastopol.
He's lately in the bidding gone back sadly;
They say he has been managed very badly.

West.
The knowing ones their heads have at him shaken.

Lon.
Ten to one 'gainst Sebastopol!

(a pause)
Fool.
Not taken!

Music—Enter Balaklava and Jockey.
Lon.
Here's one looks like a charger.

Time.
That all red one?
That's Balaklava—he's a thorough bred one,
Brother to Alma and to Inkerman;
A better bit of blood yet never ran.

Lon.
He's of a race that never ran away.

West.
And yet his owner's Greive.

Time.
And well they may.

Music—Enter Mont Blanc, Fountain, Steam Gun, and Panorama, with Jockeys.
Lon.
Here's one with jockey all white.

Time.
Oh, of course!
That's Albert Smith's Mont Blanc—a famous horse.

Fool.
As winner of the Piccadilly Plate
He ought to have been made to carry weight.

Lon.
What's the gay-coloured one behind the Mountain?

Time.
Baron Panopticon's light-footed Fountain.

Fool.
A fountain ought to run well any case in.

West.
Yes, for a cup.

Fool.
She's entered for a basin.

Time.
Count Polytechnic's Steam Gun.

Fool.
That's a stunning
Horse,—he'll go like a shot in the straight running.
I know a colt though'd beat him on one ground.

Time.
Which?

Fool.
Colonel Colt, for he can run all round.

Time.
Here's Panorama runs round like a good one;
He's an old horse, but by no means a screwed one.

Fool.
Upon the turf he's had a long existence;
I know his course—it's once round and a distance.

Time.
And that completes the Exhibition lot.

Lon.
What horses has the English Drama got?

Time.
Few thorough-bred, I fear; but here they come.
Music—Enter Royal Italian, Foreign Opera, Strand, Adelphi, Haymarket, and Princess's, with their Jockeys.
Royal Italian, out of Tweedle-dum!

Lon.
That can't be English.

West.
No, but he's the fashion,
And gentlemen to back him have a passion.

Bel.
And ladies, too—there are some dozen pair
Of gloves, I know, on him, in Belgrave Square.

Tyburn.
Oh yes! upon Italian we all doat,
And he'll win by a neck.

Fool.
You mean a throat.

Lon.
Alas! in any race, it may be said,
There are few now who can win by a head.

Time.
A foreign filly's matched against that colt.

Fool.
Those foreign fillies are so apt to bolt.

Time.
Four more dark horses that may win or fail—
Allcroft's Burlesque, and Webster's Fairy Tale,
Buckstone's Extravaganza, Kean's Romance.

West.
Extravaganza hasnt' got a chance.

Fool.
The deuce! And I've been fool enough to back it!

Time.
Hedge while you've Time—get some one up to crack it.

Air—Westminster—“The Charge is prepared.”
The jockeys are weighed, the horses are met,
The judges are there—a beautiful show;
But you look dismayed, for you have a bet—
A bet on a horse—no one knows how 'twill go.
Then take Time's advice, Fool, and hedge while you can,
Try what you can do both with East and West Ends,
Or scratch it at once—it may be the best plan,
For that way, perhaps, you'll please all your friends.

Fool.
Let's first see in a gallop how 'twill look,—
Who knows but it may suit somebody's book?

Music—“Voltigeur Galop,” then exeunt Theatres and Jockeys.
Time.
Now clear the course—it's time for them to start.

Fool.
I've such a palpitation of the heart!
For, notwithstanding 'tis a sporting age,
The odds are fearfully against the stage;
And in the Drama's neck-or-nothing race
My horse may be too weak to live the pace;
Besides, I've really laid out such a lot on it,
I needn't tell you I have put the pot on it—
I've gone to the expense in hopes of beating,
To make a Grand Stand here for this Spring Meeting;
It's not quite open yet, but if you're kind,
Fortune and Fame in it I yet may find.
And to enjoy the New Haymarket Races,
London and Westminster flock here for places;
I'll ride myself—I'm little, light, and smart,
All I implore is, give me a good start,
See us all fairly off, I'll trust to luck
And jockeyship to come out of the ruck;
I'll wait upon the favourite up the hill,
And let the Public see I'm pulling still,
Challenge him at the distance, with him close,
And, with a Chifney rush, win by a nose.
You are the judges—be the starters, too.
Say go, and we will go—the season through.

Finale—“Rouse, brothers, rouse.”
Time.

Lon.

West.