To face at once so rank a crowd The Queen was thought unable, So Thorp, he begg'd to be allow'd To hand her to a table, Where wine, and something better still, That smelt like Maraschino, Might, if administer'd with skill, Give courage to the Queen Oh. Oh the Queen! the sober Queen of Britain, She very soon was in a state an armed chair to sit on. When safely seated in this chair, The females were paraded, And like a showman, the Lord Mayor, The honours of the day did. Mrs. Thorp herself came first, ("Her maiden name was Twigs, ma'am,") Who curtseying low, cried, "May I burst, But I adore your wig, Ma'am. Oh your wig! your wig so black and curl'd, Ma'am, That like the whiskers of a Jew it looks for all the world, Ma'am." The Queen, who thought this speech a scoff, Exclaim'd, "Mon Dieu quel fardeau." So Mrs. Mayor was hurried off, And up flounced Dame Ricardo. Quoth Thorp, "This lady whom you view, Her head so lofty carrying, Is one, whom an Oporto Jew Cut off his son for marrying." Oh the son! his figure would not please ill One whose taste might chance to lie between an owl and weasel. The Queen, at seeing Mrs. Sykes, Was ready to affront her; No German Princess more dislikes These gentry of the counter. "But mean and vulgar as you think her," Said Thorp, "you needs must thank her, Because her dad, though once a tinker, Did become a banker." Oh, the dad! fit sire of such a filly, At the race-ball at Doncaster they call'd her orange-lily. Next Mrs. Wilde the presence graced, The splendour to increase, Ma'am; "Though lowly born, she has a taste, And been, like you, in Greece, Ma'am; And though she wed a peaceful squire, Was for a tar more fitted, For she is used to standing fire, And was brought up at Spit-head." Oh, the fire of poor Devaynes's kitchen, From whose hot coals she stole the blush that makes her so bewitching. Scowling Williams next produces What he calls his family; It is a mode he oddly chooses Down our throats to cram a lie; His real wife is safe in bed, Not dreaming of such folly; Perhaps the fellow, in her stead, Has brought his Vauxhall dolly. Oh, the drab! her crime is doubly heinous, Who could condescend to be that yellow Vulcan's Venus?