Punch: Punch (21.1851)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

213

A 41 W >P<Z .^

rih {A Fragment. After Dryden.)

-ft jr

THE GUILDHALL FEAST; or, ODE ON LORD MAYOR'S DAY,

IV as at the civic feast, on having won
The chair of Whittington,
Aloft, in lordly state,
The worthy Hunter sate
On his official throne.
The Ministers were placed around ;
Their minds to capon and to turtle bound :--
So should desert in Whigs be crown'd.
The plucky Premier near bis side
Sat, who the Pope op Rome defied,
When he the Hat on England tried.
Happy, happy, happy Mayor !
None but a trump,
None but a trump.
None but a trump deserves the fare.

Musicians, placed on high,

Lest waiting guests should tire,
With soothing airs allay'd desire ;
' Till fragrant fames ascend the sky,
And rapturous thoughts inspire.
The feast began—by Jove !—
With soup that might be rank'd above
Ambrosia, which the Immortals love.
The turtle's shapeless form supplied the prog,
Sublime repast of Magog and of Gog.
The banquet was by Burrell drest:
Two hundred and a half tureens—enough to
feast a world!
The serving men quick hand the plates
around,

And sighs of ecstacy and smacking lips
resound.
With heedless ears,
Each gourmand hears,

Seems deaf as clod,
Can only nod,
If question interferes.

The rites of Harker now 'tis fitting should be
sung:

Of Harker ever jolly, never sprung.
Lo ! with the loving-cup he comes ;
Twang the trumpets, thump the drums.
Now sip the spicy bowl; he comes ! he comes!
Harker, jolly, but ne'er sprung,
Over civic toasts doth reign.
Barker's richness is a treasure ;
Drinking is the City's pleasure ;

Fine the treasure,

Vast the pleasure,
Patriotic cups to drain.

Here, long ago,
Ere yet iced punch had learned to flow,
While pines were unknown fruit;
The Aldermen, in antique suit
And quaint attire,
Their paunches lined with beef from oxen
cooked entire.
At last great Erancatelli came,
To renovate the human frame :
Refined gastronomer, whose precious lore,
Enlarging ancient cookery's bounds,
New notions constantly propounds
Of kickshaws, and tit-bits, and plates unknown
before.

If Burrell will not yield the prize,

Let both contest the crown,
And, while his best each artist tries,

Let Punch to judge sit down.