Upon the barrels I'll sit perched, the barrels all so full Of smashing stuff they sell for beer, and give you the long pull. My Robin rarely touches beer--for 'Rum's my drink,' he'll say-- But I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray. Through Lime-street, Lord-street, we'll parade each leading thoroughfare, While the spectators rival teams and turn-outs will compare, On brewers' and on millers' carts the brazen bands will play, And I'll be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'll be Queen o' the Dray. * * * * * For hours and hours we'll roam about, until the team it tires, And Robin will imbibe more rum than he actually requires; At many a 'public' he will stop a-moistening of his clay, And I'll be the Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'll be the Queen o' the Dray. * * * * * So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear. If I don't seem to hear you, give me a smack upon the ear; To-morrow'll be of all the year, the maddest, merriest day, For I'm to be the Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray. * * * * * THE DRAY QUEEN. (_A Sequel to last May-day's Carol, by Our Own Poet Lorry-ate, Author of "I'm A-float," &c._) IF you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the carters' cheer; It is the last of the turn-outs that I may ever see, For Robin he lays me low with a kick--and thinks no more of me. Last May we had a reg'lar spree, we had such a jolly day, And Robin, who drove a brewer's cart, he made me Queen o' the Dray; And we danced and sung and got mad drunk on Walker's sixpenny hops, Till the Charleys come at the row we made, and every one of us cops. And lugs us off to chokee, mother, and keeps us there all night, As drunken and disorderlies--both women and men were tight-- And Raffles, the beak, next morning, was in a terrible way-- Ten shillin' we had to pay, mother, ten shillin' and costs to pay. And in default of payment,--our cash we had spent in ale,-- That Raffles he gave us all a week within sweet Walton gaol, Where soon we learnt to pick oakum (the skin's off my fingers still), And Robin did "Sich a gettin' upstairs" upon the revolving mill. * * * * * The end of it was, he axed me, as I'd been Queen of his Dray, If I would marry a scavenger as never did work by day, And though his wages was but low--a matter o' twenty-five bob-- Before the month o' May was out we settled the blessed job.