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A troop of the Blues,
On the people's shoes,
Plunges and prances,
As the morning advances.

When the crowds increase,
With a great deal of bluster,
There's a powerful muster

Of metropolitan police,
Who strut to and fro,

And keep people back,

With a push or a crack,
To get for themselves a front row ;

For really, in spite
Of their collars, and numbers, and letters,

They love a sight
Just as much as their betters.

But the plunging of their Rosinantes
Turns all their allegros into andantes.

“ The Queen, the Queen,"
Such dignity never before was seen,
And such condescension
Is past comprehension.
She bows to all,
Both great and small;
To the rich and the needy,
The well-dressed, the seedy.-
That courteous look,

The dirty scamp

Who sits in the lamp,
To himself exclusively took.

Oh! who, but a Queen, could find enough smiles,
To last for a ride of a couple of miles ?
And wear an appearance extremely affable,
Towards a crowd that's rather riffraffable ?

The signal is given — they fire the guns ;

In every direction, now every one runs ; Not that they know exactly why,

But they think they ought to make a move,

And give the people near them a shove, When “ the Queen, the Queen,” becomes the cry; Policemen their staves begin to brandish, The steeds of the Blues cut capers outlandish, Shewing at once their airs and graces, Switching their tails in every one's faces ;

Corpulent people, who take up room, Get a poke, that they think extremely rude, Because, beyond the line, to protrude,

Their unfortunate stomachs presume.

The speech from the Throne

Is delivered and done;
Both parties agree to vote the address,
Which, to all her Majesty asks, says-yes.

And now, at length, his plans to disclose
The Minister comes, he no longer can blink 'em.

So he rises at last, slap dash, to propose
A tax upon property and income.
On every one who has profits clear
Of a hundred and fifty pounds a year.

An impost is laid,

Which must be paid ;
Amounting exactly, in numbers round,
To sevenpence in every pound.
Oh! how the people at once begin,
In their outward expenses to draw in;
And folks who used to be heard to boast,

About what they made,

By their business or trade, Make the least of it now, instead of the most !

Now the procession comes,

Bang go the drums;
To blow in time the trumpeters try,
While their horses do nothing but kick and shy;
The mounted musicians strain their throats,
In a vain endeavour to sound the notes ;

With dreadful grimace,
They make an attempt, to supply the bass ;

Many become amazingly thrifty,

That assessors may n't think 'em

Possessed of an income,

Over a hundred and fifty, There's something that Englishmen do n 't much like, In being obliged a balance to strike,

And shake his head

When anything's said, About the profits last year made, By Mr. So-and-so, in his trade?

Should creditors want to know,

If debtors are on the go,
The district assessor at once they 'll seek ;

And when they have found him,

They 'll pump and sound him ;
But if the official refuses to speak,

To judge they'll try,
By the turn of an eye ;
Or if they should think

They detected a wink,
Their conclusions they 'll draw
From what, if they did not hear they saw.

The only way
To make sure the assessors will nothing say,

Is to lay down a rule,
That candidates for the office shall come

From the excellent school
For the deaf and dumb.

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But if the assessors said not a word,

Much that they might have said would be heard ; And“ might say," or

did say,” becomes the same, When repeated by a

Common liar,
For such is the name
That's given to fame.

Of profit and loss, in order to shew

What they are taking,

Or making,
Whether they wish it or no.
The true religion, that every one heeds,
Is money; and ledgers contain their creeds.
It's popish, rather, to make an assessor
Act as a sort of father confessor.
It's true they are all to secresy bound,
But where is a man so discreet to be found,
Who, when beneath the load he labours,
Of all the secrets of his neighbours,

Won't walk,
And talk,

For instance, report went about declaring,
That the opulent house of Baring,


And others, Had made a return, that they didn 't clear One hundred and fifty pounds a year ! Which startled the public, accustomed to think 'em Possessed of a rather respectable income.



But, alas ! it is vain,
To cry and complain,
Against the tax
They've laid on our backs.
Whatever we say,

They 'll force us to pay.
And no one to grumble should surely be found,

When even the Queen,

So willing has been,
To offer her seven-pence in the pound.


'Tis thought a very prudent plan,

To live within
Your annual in-

come, if you can.
But, if the returns are truly made,

Some curious cases will be displayed,

Of ingenious persons — not worth a pin, (Though the style of their outlay would lead one to doubt it)

Who, instead of keeping their income within,
Have been cutting a dash, and living without it.

And ah! there is very much reason to fear,
If you add to your family every year,

The assessor will say,

Something more you must pay.
For if your number of children's augmented,

To reason it stands,
If you keep them all as they grow on your hands,
To be thought so much richer, you must be contented.

And whenever your wife's confined,
If the assessor should make the diskivery,

To a larger Income-tax be resigned.
Each infant you 'll pay for, on delivery.


What, for a counter, would I do, but good ?

As YOU LIKE IT, Act II., Scene 7.

When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire ? As you LIKE IT, Act I., Scene 2.

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E invariably encounter in our peregrinations certain people, who have

some peculiar feature or other as infallibly distinguishing them from their fellow bipeds, as the marks assigned by Nature to point out the dif

ferences existing amongst quadrupedal tribes. The Fop walks on his toes with stilted affectation, smiles and simpers, and his pace never exceeds an idle saunter. He adjusts alternately the cock of his hat and the set of his curls, and arranges his stock and pulls down his waistcoat about five times in twice as many minutes. He fails not to admire himself in every mirror he encounters,—mirrors possessing the same attraction for his personal points as the loadstone has for the needle to which he is indebted for them.


The Lounger differs from the Fop, inasmuch as he is constantly occupied with everything but himself; he has generally a limited income; and his world is confined to the neighbourhood of the parks, the clubs, and the theatres. His time is passed in alternately lounging to and from one or the other, and his “pauses and rests” are coffee-rooms, cigardivans, and billiard-tables. The jeux d'esprit of "Punch," he retails as "capital things that were said at my club last night.” He always is (or pretends to have been) one of the first at every opera, ballet, play, concert, ball, exhibition, or other public place, and no doubt he will be the first to trail his cane round Trafalgar Square, and puff the cloud of his Cuba at the foot of Nelson's Pillar. He knows exactly what took place in "the House” last night, and what will transpire on the first reading of the new Bill for getting rid of light sovereigns

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