Another crash--and away they dash'd, And the gilded carriage and footmen flash'd From the eyes of the gaping people-- Who turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel Of the Golden Boys beginning a reel, To the merry sound of a wedding peal From St. James's musical steeple. CCXLIII. Those wedding bells! those wedding bells! How sweetly they sound in pastoral dells From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket! But town-made joys how dearly they cost; And after all are tumbled and tost, Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost In town-made riot and racket. CCXLIV. The wedding peal, how sweetly it peals With grass or heather beneath our heels,-- For bells are Music's laughter!-- But a London peal, well mingled, be sure, With vulgar noises and voices impure,-- With a harsh and discordant overture To the Harmony meant to come after! CCXLV. But hence with Discord--perchance, too soon To cloud the face of the honeymoon With a dismal occultation!-- Whatever Fate's concerted trick, The Countess and Count, at the present nick, Have a chicken, and not a crow, to pick At a sumptuous Cold Collation. CCXLVI. A Breakfast--no unsubstantial mess, But one in the style of Good Queen Bess, Who,--hearty as hippocampus,-- Broke her fast with ale and beef, Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf, And--in lieu of anchovy--grampus. CCXLVII. A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh, Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh; With wines the most rare and curious-- Wines, of the richest flavor and hue; With fruits from the worlds both Old and New; And fruits obtain'd before they were due At a discount most usurious. CCXLVIII. For wealthy palates there be, that scout What is _in_ season, for what is _out_, And prefer all precocious savor: For instance, early green peas, of the sort That costs some four or five guineas a quart; Where the _Mint_ is the principal flavor. CCXLIX. And many a wealthy man was there, Such as the wealthy City could spare, To put in a portly appearance-- Men, whom their fathers had help'd to gild: And men, who had had their fortunes to build And--much to their credit--had richly fill'd Their purses by _pursy-verance_. CCL. Men, by popular rumor at least, Not the last to enjoy a feast! And truly they were not idle! Luckier far than the chestnut tits, Which, down at the door, stood champing their bits, At a different sort of bridle. CCLI. For the time was come--and the whisker'd Count Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount, And fain would the Muse deny it, But the crowd, including two butchers in blue, (The regular killing Whitechapel hue,) Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view, As if they had come to buy it! CCLII.