ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER. O LUD! O Lud! O Lud! I mean of course that venerable town, 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 still, if one must have a Mayor 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 the Embroiderers and all the Saddlers, Sopping the Furriers, Draggling the Curriers, And making Merchant Tailors dirty paddlers; Drenching the Skinners' Company to the skin, And turning the Distiller To cold without instead of warm within Of Wax-chandlers and Weavers, ; Plastering the Plasterers and spotting Hearty November cursers And showing Cordwainers and dapper Dra- Sadly in want of brushes and of scrapers; For company a bit; Dying the Dyers with a dingy flood, And leading the Patten-makers, "This is a sorry sight," To quote Macbeth - but oh, it grieves me quite, To see your Wives and Daughters in their plumes White plumes not white Sitting at open windows catching rheums, Not "Angels ever bright and fair," But angels ever brown and sallow, With eyes- you cannot see above one pair, And artificial flowers, rose, leaf, and bud, And grim daffodilies Drooping, but not for drought, O Lud! O Lud! I may as well, while I'm inclined, Oh Lud! then, with a better air, say June, To sound with trumpets, and with drums, When he who comes ne'er dealt in blood? A little French if I may martyr O Lud! I say Do change your day To some time when your Show can really show; Look at your Sweepers, how they shine in Have it when there's a sun to gild the coach, Suppose, O Lud, to show its plan, I call, like Blue Beard's wife, to sister Anne, To see what she can see- - and what she can't; Now Sister Anne, I call to thee, Of course about the bridge you view them rally With many a wherry, sculler, punt, and cutter; The Fishmongers' grand boat, but not for butter, The Goldsmiths' glorious galley, Of course you see the Lord Mayor's coach aquatic, With silken banners that the breezes fan, In gold all glowing, And men in scarlet rowing, Like Doge of Venice to the Adriatic; Of course you see all this, O Sister Anne? "No, I see no such thing! I only see the edge of Beaufort Wharf, Two little boys are jumping over posts; That's rather like the shadow of a dog, If there be any thing so fine and bright, No banners blow; The Show is merely a gallanty-show, But sister Anne, my dear, Although you cannot see, you still may hear? Of course you hear, I'm very sure of that, The "Water parted from the Sea" in C, Or Huntsman's chorus from the Freyschutz frightful, Or Handel's Water Music in A flat. O music from the water comes delightful ! It sounds as nowhere else it can : You hear it first In some rich burst, Then faintly sighing, Tenderly dying, Away upon the breezes, Sister Anne. "There is no breeze to die on; And all their drums and trumpets, flutes and harps, Could never cut their way with ev'n three sharps Through such a fog as this, you may rely on. |