The guard his bugle tuned for battle, The horses snorted with delight, As Piccadilly came in sight. On either side the road was lined With vehicles of ev'ry kind, And as the rapid wheel went round, There seem'd scarce room to clear the ground. "Gate-gate-push on--how do--well met-- Pull up--my tits are on the fret-- The number--lost it--tip then straight, That covey vants to bilk the gate." The toll-house welcome this to town. Your prime, flash, bang up, fly, or down, A tidy team of prads,--your castor's Quite a Joliffe tile,--my master. Thus buck and coachee greet each other, And seem familiar as a brother. No Chinese wall, or rude barrier, Obstructs the view, or entrance here; Nor fee or passport,--save the warder, Who draws to keep the roads in order; No questions ask'd, but all that please May pass and repass at their ease. In cockney land, the seventh day Is famous for a grand display Of modes, of finery, and dress, Of cit, west-ender, and noblesse, Who in Hyde Park crowd like a fair To stare, and lounge, and take the air, Or ride or drive, or walk, and chat On fashions, scandal, and all that.-- Here, reader, with your leave, will we Commence our London history. 'Twas Sunday, and the park was full With Mistress, John, and Master Bull, And all their little fry. The crowd pour in from all approaches, Tilb'ries, dennets, gigs, and coaches; ~167~~ The bells rung merrily. Old dowagers, their fubsy faces{2} Painted to eclipse the Graces, Pop their noddles out Of some old family affair That's neither chariot, coach, or chair, Well known at ev'ry rout. But bless me, who's that coach and six? "That, sir, is Mister Billy Wicks, A great light o' the city, Tallow-chandler, and lord mayor{3}; Miss Flambeau Wicks's are the fair, Who're drest so very pretty. It's only for a year you know He keeps up such a flashy show; And then he's melted down. The man upon that half-starved nag{4} Is an Ex-S------ff, a strange wag, Half flash, and half a clown. But see with artful lures and wiles The Paphian goddess, Mrs. G***s,{5} 2 There are from twenty to thirty of these well known relics of antiquity who regularly frequent the park, and attend all the fashionable routs,--perfumed and painted with the utmost extravagance: if the wind sets in your face, they may be scented at least a dozen carriages off.