My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news, "Run to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. Rope-dancers a score I've seen before-- Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more; But to see a man swing At the end of a string, With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!" My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab-- Dark rifle green, with a lining of drab; Through street, and through square, His high-trotting mare, Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air. Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace; She produced some alarm, But did no great harm, Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm, Spattering with clay Two urchins at play, Knocking down--very much to the sweeper's dismay-- An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way, And upsetting a stall Near Exeter Hall, Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks squall. But eastward afar, Through Temple Bar, My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car; Never heeding their squalls, Or their calls, or their bawls, He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls, And, merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's, Turns down the Old Bailey, Where in front of the gaol, he Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily Cries, "What must I fork out to-night, my trump, For the whole first-floor of the Magpie and Stump?" * * * * * The clock strikes twelve--it is dark midnight-- Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light. The parties are met; The tables are set; There is "punch," "cold _without_," "hot _with_," "heavy wet," Ale-glasses and jugs, And rummers and mugs, And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs, Cold fowl and cigars, Pickled onions in jars, Welsh rabbits and kidneys--rare work for the jaws!-- And very large lobsters, with very large claws; And there is M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues, All come to see a man "die in his shoes!" The clock strikes One! Supper is done, And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun, Singing "Jolly companions every one!" My Lord Tomnoddy Is drinking gin-toddy, And laughing at ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body.-- The clock strikes Two! and the clock strikes Three! --"Who so merry, so merry as we?" Save Captain M'Fuze, Who is taking a snooze, While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work, Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork. The clock strikes Four!-- Round the debtors' door Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more; As many await At the press-yard gate, Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight The mob divides, and between their ranks A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks.