Oh Peace! with thee I love to wander, But wait till I have show’d up Lady Squander, And now I’ve seen her up the stair, Oh Peace!--but here comes Captain Hare. Oh Peace! thou art the slumber of the mind, Untroubled, calm and quiet, and unbroken,-- If that is Alderman Guzzle from Portsoken, Alderman Gobble won’t be far behind; Oh Peace! serene in worldly shyness,-- Make way there for his Serene Highness! Oh Peace! if you do not disdain To dwell amongst the menial train, I have a silent place, and lone, That you and I may call our own; Where tumult never makes an entry-- Susan, what business have you in my pantry? Oh Peace! but there is Major Monk, At variance with his wife--Oh Peace! And that great German, Vander Trunk, And that great talker, Miss Apreece; Oh Peace! so dear to poets’ quills-- They’re just beginning their quadrilles-- Oh Peace! our greatest renovator;-- I wonder where I put my waiter-- Oh Peace!--but here my Ode I’ll cease; I have no peace to write of Peace. FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER. O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! I mean of course that venerable town, Mention’d in stories of renown, Built formerly of mud;-- O Lud, I say, why didst thou e’er Invent the office of a Mayor, An office that no useful purpose crowns, But to set Aldermen against each other, That should be Brother unto Brother,-- Sisters at least, by virtue of their gowns? But still if one must have a Mayor To fill the Civic chair, O Lud, I say, Was there no better day To fix on, than November Ninth so shivery And dull for showing off the Livery’s livery? Dimming, alas! The Brazier’s brass, Soiling th’ Embroiderers and all the Saddlers, Sopping the Furriers, Draggling the Curriers, And making Merchant Tailors dirty paddlers: Drenching the Skinners’ Company to the skin, Making the crusty Vintner chiller, And turning the Distiller To cold without instead of warm within;-- Spoiling the bran-new beavers Of Wax-chandlers and Weavers, Plastering the Plasterers and spotting Mercers, Hearty November-cursers-- And showing Cordwainers and dapper Drapers Sadly in want of brushes and of scrapers; Making the Grocer’s company not fit For Company a bit; Dying the Dyers with a dingy flood, Daubing incorporated Bakers, And leading the Patten-makers, Over their very pattens in the mud,-- O Lud! O Lud! O Lud!