Part 11
A SUBJECT I want for a song, do you see, So Her Majesty, look you, my subject shall be; Nay there I am wrong, so my Muse here avers, _My_ “subject” she can’t be, because I am _hers_! Forgive me, I beg, if with words I do play, And hear a plain man in his own queer plain way, And still to my errors in mercy pray lean, While the wedding I sing of our glorious Queen!
_Chorus._
Our cups to the dregs in a health let us drain, And with them a long and a prosperous reign, Like good loyal subjects in loud chorus sing, Victoria’s wedding with Albert her King.
Many suitors the Queen’s had of class, clime, and creed, But each failed to make an impression, indeed; For, for Albert of Coburg, the rest off she packs, Thus “giving the _bag_” each, and keeping “the Saxe!” A fortunate fellow he is, all must say, And right well his _cards_ he has managed to play, The _game_ he has won, and no wonder, I ween, When he played “Speculation,” and turn’d up _the Queen_.
A hundred thousand a year he may get, For taking the Queen, which is something to wit; _I_ myself had “proposed” had I known it, that’s flat, For I’d willingly take her for much less than that. Even yet, if her Majesty _should_ chance to scoff At the bargain she’s made, and the matter break off, I’ll instantly seek her, and lay my mind down, And offer to take her, at just--_half a crown_!
Since the Queen did herself for a husband “propose,” The ladies will all do the same I suppose; Their days of subserviency now will be past, For all will speak _first_, as they always did _last_! Since the Queen has no equal, “obey,” none she need, So, of course, at the Altar, from such vow she’s freed; And the women will all follow suit, so they say-- “Love, honour,” they’ll promise, but never “obey.”
Those will now wed, who ne’er wedded before, Those who always wedded, will now wed the more; Clerks will no time have, to lunch, dine, or sup, And parsons, just now will begin to _look up_! To churches, indeed, this will be a God-send, Goldsmiths be selling off _rings without end_! For now you’ll not find from Castle to Cot, A _single_ man living, who _married_ is not.
But hence with all quibbling, for now I have done, Though all I have said has been purely in fun; May the Queen and the King shine like Venus and Mars, And Heaven _preserve_ them without any _jars_! Like Danaë of old may we see it plain, Till time is no more, these bright _sovereigns rain_:[51] May pleasure and joy through their lives know no bounds, So let’s give them a _toast_, and make it _three rounds_.
_A NEW SONG ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES._[52]
THERE’S a pretty fuss and bother both in country and in town, Since we have got a present, and an heir unto the Crown, A little Prince of Wales so charming and so sly, And the ladies shout with wonder, What a pretty little boy!
He must have a little musket, a trumpet and a kite, A little penny rattle, and silver sword so bright, A little cap and feather with scarlet coat so smart, And a pretty little hobby horse to ride about the park.
Prince Albert he will often take the young Prince on his lap, And fondle him so lovingly while he stirs about the pap, He will pin on his flannel before he takes his nap, Then dress him out so stylish with his little clouts and cap.
He must have a dandy suit to strut about the town, John Bull must rake together six or seven thousand pound, You’d laugh to see his daddy, at night he homewards runs, With some peppermint or lollipops, sweet cakes and sugar plums.
He will want a little fiddle, and a little German flute, A little pair of stockings and a pretty pair of boots, With a handsome pair of spurs, and a golden headed cane, And a stick of barley sugar, as long as Drury Lane.
An old maid ran through the palace, which did the nobs surprize, Bawling out, he’s got his daddy’s mouth, his mammy’s nose and eyes, He will be as like his daddy as a frigate to a ship, If he’d only got mustachios upon his upper lip.
Now to get these little niceties the taxes must be rose, For the little Prince of Wales wants so many suits of clothes, So they must tax the frying pan, the windows and the doors, The bedsteads and the tables, kitchen pokers, and the floors.
_THE QUEEN AND THE COAL EXCHANGE._
YOU lads and you lasses so gay, Now keep yourselves tidy and sober, And never forget the grand day, The thirtieth day of October.[53] When the QUEEN and Prince ALBERT so grand, With their dear little sons and their daughter, Will all get in a boat at Whitehall, And go down to the city by water, To open the New Coal Exchange.
To tell you about the concern, It is Queen VICTORIA’S desire then, Her pocket is got very low, Through her journey to Scotland and Ireland.[54] To see them along go so gay, Throw open your doors and your windows, A coal shed they’ve took, so they say, To retail Newcastles and cinders, A coal porter Albert will be.
Such a sight sure there has not been seen, Believe me my friends there has never, As there is to see England’s Queen, In a collier so gay on the river. Not a gun must be fired that day, Not a barge nor a boat must be stopping, But they must be all cleared away, Three miles and a half below Wapping. Won’t that be a glorious sight!
The Dukes, Lords and Ladies so gay, Will whistle and sing when they’ve started, And when they arrive near the key, They will anchor near Billingsgate Market. And then all on shore they will go, To be gazed at by wise folk and simple, Where they’ll have a good blow out of crabs, Of oysters, red herrings and winkles. Move on and get out of the way.
To receive them will be the Lord Mayor, And his lady, as sweet as a myrtle, Lots of Aldermen too will be there, To treat her with salmon and turtle. At the Custom House Pier they will stand, And the citizens gay will receive her, And make ALBERT, as we understand An out and out stunning coalheaver, Such wonders we never did see.
To the brim they will fill up a sack, And drink a good health to the nation, Then clap it on Prince ALBERT’S back, What a change it will be in his station. There will be dukes and earls too, Coal merchants, silk weavers and wasters, When AL will put on his smock frock, Knee breeches, white stockings and gaiters, A coal porter ALBERT will be.
Let us hope they will have a good trade, And be able to flare up like flinders, There’s many a fortune been made By wetting the coals and the cinders. Prince ALBERT will not be compelled To carry the sacks, but he’d rather, And the young PRINCE OF WALES will be there, For to measure the coals for his father. Seven pounds for a penny, good weight.
So now to conclude, my good friends, If it won’t be a sight, it’s a pity, The QUEEN and her husband so fine, And her children, all down in the City. The colliers drest all in their best, At the Custom House wait to receive her, Here’s a health to Victoria so grand, And Prince ALBERT the slashing coalheaver, A dealer in Newcastle coals.
_CRYSTAL PALACE._
BRITANNIA’S sons an attentive ear One moment lend to me, Whether tillers of our fruitful soil, Or lords of high degree. Mechanic too, and artizan, Old England’s pride and boast, Whose wondrous skill has spread around, Far, far from Britain’s coast.
_Chorus._
For the World’s great Exhibition, Let’s shout with loud huzza, All nations never can forget, The glorious first of May.
From every quarter of the Globe, They come across the sea, And to the Chrystal Palace The wonders for to see; Raised by the handiwork of men Born on British ground, A challenge to the Universe It’s equal to be found.
Each friendly nation in the world, Have their assistance lent, And to this Exhibition Have their productions sent. And with honest zeal and ardour, With pleasure do repair, With hands outstretch’d, and gait erect, To the World’s Great National Fair.
The Sons of England and France And America likewise, With other nations to contend, To bear away the prize. With pride depicted in their eyes, View the offspring of their hand, O, surely England’s greatest wealth, Is an honest working man.
It is a glorious sight to see So many thousands meet, Not heeding creed or country, Each other friendly greet. Like children of one mighty sire, May that sacred tie ne’er cease, May the blood stain’d sword of War give way To the Olive branch of Peace.
But hark! the trumpets flourish, Victoria does approach, That she may long be spared to us Shall be our reigning toast. I trust each heart, it will respond, To what I now propose-- Good will and plenty to her friends, And confusion to her foes.
Great praise is due to Albert, For the good that he has done, May others follow in his steps The work he has begun; Then let us all, with one accord, His name give with three cheers, Shout huzza for the Chrystal Palace, And the World’s great National Fair!!
_QUEEN’S VISIT TO FRANCE._[55]
YOU bonny pretty English Girls-- Your Mammas I am going to harrass, What a lark I lately have had, Among the young bucks of Paris. A son and daughter I shall have, As fine as ever were seen-y, The boy shall Napoleon be called, And the little girl nam’d Eugenie.
_Chorus._
I’ve been to France to learn to dance, With Frenchmen we were mingling, Now Vic and Albert have returned Once more to bonny England.
From Osborne boldly we set sail, Our hearts did beat in motion, The wind it blew a pleasant gale, And glorious looked the ocean. And when we landed at Boulogne, Napoleon loud did roar, there, Three times he kiss’d me on the cheek, Then sang “God bless Victoria.”
The guns did fire, the bells did ring, The cannon balls did rattle, Young men and maids did sweetly sing, Then the soldiers had a battle. The snips and snobs, so help my bobs, Were mounted on French ponies, Me and Albert had a fracasee, Then a stumping Macaroni.
There were blazing lights all through the night, The doors broke off their hinges, When all the pretty maiden’s knees Were covered over with fringes. The men had all got hairy lips, Then whistled sweet marblue, Sirs, They cheered me gaily all the way, Then halloed Parley Vous, Sirs.
The Frenchmen used me very well, And shewed me sights and wonders My Albert, he was frightened, and, Eugenie’s bed crept under; I thought with her he was in love, I thought he did adore her, I thought that he had run away, And left his own Victoria.
Well, now we’ve had a grand flare up, The like was seen not never, The kind French folk did laugh and joke, With “Anglais for ever.” The sights I’ve seen, believe your Queen, So sweetly did delight her, She went to France to learn to dance, And Bull must pay the piper.
_THE QUEEN’S DREAM._
GOOD people give attention, and listen for a while, To an interesting ditty, which cannot fail to make you smile, So all draw near, and lend an ear, while I relate a theme, Concerning of Victoria, a strange and funny dream.
_Chorus._
So these are dreams and visions Of old England’s blooming Queen.
At the Isle of Wight, the other night, as Vic lay in her bed, Strange visions did to her appear, and dreams came in her head; She drew Prince Albert by the nose, and gave a dreadful scream, Oh, dear, she said, I’m filled with dread, I’d such a dreadful dream.
Says Albert, Vic, what are you at? you’ve made my nose quite sore, I’m in a mind, for half a pin, to kick you on the floor, Such dreams for me will never do, you pepper’d me with blows. I never knew a wife to dream, and pull her husband’s nose.
O, don’t be vex’d, the Queen replied, you know I love you well, So listen awhile dear Albert, and my dreams to you I’ll tell: Last night, she said, I had a dream, as soon as I lay down, I thought Napoleon had come o’er, to steal away my crown.
The vision of Napoleon appeared at my bed side, He said that by my subjects he had been greatly belied, But now, said he, I’ll be revenged, I’ll quickly make you rue, And I’ll take away the laurels that were won at Waterloo.
When the vision of Napoleon, from my view did disappear, To escape the French, I thought that we came to lodge here, I thought that we were so held down, by cursed poverty, That I was forc’d to labour hard in a cotton factory.
Prince Albert, he stood quite amazed, and listened to the Queen, And said, dear Vic, I little thought that you had such a dream, Cheer up your heart, don’t look so sad, you need not be afraid, For I’m sure the French will ne’er attempt, Old England to invade.
The Queen to Albert then replied, I have not told you all, For I dream’t that Lord John Russell, altho’ but very small, Just like a Briton bold, then so nobly did advance, And with his fist, knocked out the eye, of the Emperor of France.
I dreamed that I was weaving on a pair of patent looms, And I thought that you were going through the streets a-selling brooms, And I thought our blooming Prince of Wales was selling milk and cream, But, Albert dear, when I awoke, it was nothing but a dream.
Indeed, said Albert, dream no more, you fill my heart with pain, And I hope that you will never have such frightful dreams again, We’ve English and Irish soldiers, we can conquer all our foes, So, whenever you dream again Vic, pray don’t you pull my nose.
_LOVELY ALBERT._[56]
THE Turkish War, both near and far, Has played the very deuce then, And little AL, the royal pal, They say, he has turned a Russian; Old Aberdeen, as may be seen, Looks woeful pale and yellow, And Old John Bull has his belly full Of dirty Russian Tallow.
_Chorus._
We’ll send him home and make him groan, Oh, AL, you’ve played the deuce then, The German lad has acted sad, And turned tail with the Russian.
When AL came here, you’re all aware, He brought with him no riches, He had scarce a rag upon his back, And great holes in his breeches; Oh, England on him pity took, And chang’d his sad condition, And soon he plann’d, you understand, The National Exhibition.
The Cobourgs came from far and near, With their Dispatches, all dirt, A begging for the Russian Bear, To blooming lovely Albert, To keep old Nick, the devil’s limb, And on to Turkey lead him, To massacre the innocent Turks, And rob them of their freedom.
Last Monday night, all in a fright, Al, out of bed did tumble, The German lad was raving mad, How he did groan and grumble! He cried to Vic, I’ll cut my stick, To Petersburgh, go right slap, When Vic, ’tis said, jumped out of bed, And whopp’d him with her night cap.
There, with the bolster round the room, Vic gave him dreadful lashes, She scratched his face and broke his nose, And pull’d out his moustaches. You German dog, you shall be flogg’d, She halloed like a Prussian, How could you dare to interfere And turn a cursed Russian?
Bad luck they say, both night and day, To the Cobugs and all humbugs, The Wirtembugs and Scarem bugs, And all the German house bugs. And the old bug of Aberdeen, The Peterbugs and Prussians, May Providence protect the Turks, And massacre the Russians.
You jolly Turks, now go to work, And show the Bear your power-- It’s rumoured over Britain’s isle, That A---- is in the Tower, The Postmen some suspicion had, And openéd two letters, ’Twas pity sad, the German lad, Should not have known much better.
Well, now, my friends, to made an end, From tyrants guard your own coast, I’ll tell you what ’tween you and I, The Tower-ditch and the gate post: I think that AL has been used well, Since first he came to England, And had no cause to obstruct the laws, Or in politics be mingling.
Let France and England set to work, Shun Austrians and Prussians, Assist the poor and injured Turks, And smother all the Russians. Chain up the Bear, and make him stare, And so I take my Davy, We’ll sing Old England, three times three, The Army and the Navy.
_Chorus._
I tell thee AL, we never shall, Although you play’d the deuce then, Allow the Turks to be run down, By the dirty, greasy Russian.
_BRAVE NELSON._
THE twenty-first day of October, It being a glorious day, The combin’d fleets of Spain and France, They met at Buzeray. Their number it being thirty three, Bertram chanced them to see. There is twenty seven of them for me, Said brave Nelson.
We form’d a line of battle, Our cannons loud did roar, Some we sent into the air, And others down below. But Nelson on the deck so high, Aloud unto his men did cry, This day we conquer or we die, Said brave Nelson.
On the twenty first of October, At the rising of the sun, We form’d the line for action, At twelve o’clock begun. We manned our rigging and shot away, Besides some thousands on that day, Were killed and wounded in the ’fray, With brave Nelson.
Our ship was numbered twenty seven, Her cannon loud did roar, We ships, in number twenty seven, Took from the Spanish shore. But when we’d victory on our side, A musket ball his life destroyed, And in the midst of glory died, Our brave Nelson.
To view this hero dying, With his last parting breath, He prayed for England’s glory, At the moment of his death. Farewell my lads, my glass is run, This day will be my setting sun, And providence it must be done, Said brave Nelson.
Fare you well brave Nelson, Old England shed a tear, The bravest of her heroes, Has lost his life so dear. Did he not merit much applause, He fought for liberty and laws, He bled and died for England’s cause The brave Nelson.
_LORD NELSON._
COME all gallant seamen that unite a meeting, Attend to these lines that I’m going to relate, And, when that you hear, it will move you with pity, To hear how Lord Nelson, he met with his fate. For he was a bold and undaunted commander, As ever did sail on the ocean wide, And he made both the French and the Spaniards surrender, By always pouring into them a broadside.
_Chorus._
Mourn, England, mourn; mourn and complain, For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main.
From aloft, to aloft, where he was commanding, All by a French gun he received a ball, And, by the contents, he got mortally wounded, And that was the occasion of Lord Nelson’s fall. Like an undaunted hero, exposed to the fire, As he gave the command, on the quarter deck stood, And to hear of his actions, you would much admire, To see the decks covered all with human blood.
One hundred engagements he had been into, And never, in his time, was he known to be beat, For he had lost an arm, likewise his right eye, sir, No powers on earth could ever him defeat. His age, at his death, it was forty and seven, And as long as I live, his great praises, I’ll sing, For the whole navigation was given unto him, Because he was loyal and true to his king.
Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry, And unto Lord Nelson these words he did say, Indeed, then, my lord, I am very sorry, To see you lying and bleeding this way, No matter, no matter whatever about me, My time it has come, I’m almost at the worst, And there’s my gallant seamen who’re fighting so boldly, Go and discharge your duty to them first.
Then, with a loud voice he called out to his captain, Pray let me know how this battle does go, I think that our guns continue to rattle, Though death approaches, I very well know. The antagonists ship has gone to the bottom, Eighteen we’ve captured, and brought them on board, And there are two of them quite blown out of the ocean, So that is the news I have brought you, my Lord.
Come all gallant seamen that unite a meeting, Always let Lord Nelson’s memory go round; For it is your duty, when you unite a meeting, Because he was loyal and true to the Crown; So now to conclude, and to finish these verses, My time it is come, I am quite at the worst, May the heavens go with you, and ten thousand blessings, May rest in the Fleet with you, Lord Collingwood.
_BATTLE OF WATERLOO._
TWAS on the 18 day of June[57] Napoleon did advance, The choicest troops that he could raise within the bounds of France; Their glittering eagles shone around, and proudly looked the foe, But Britain’s lion tore their wings, on the plains of Waterloo.
With Wellington we’ll go, with Wellington we’ll go, For Wellington commanded us on the plains of Waterloo; The fight did last from ten o’clock until the dawn of day, While blood and limbs, and cannon balls in thick profusion lay.
The number of the French, that at Waterloo were slain, Was near sixty thousand, all laid upon the plain; Near forty thousand of them fell upon that fatal day, Of our brave British heroes who their prowess did display.
It’s now the dreadful night comes on, how dismal is the plain, When the Prussians, and the English found above ten thousand slain, (_sic_) Brave Wellington, and Blucher, bold, most nobly drove their foes, And Buonaparte’s Imperial Crown was taken at Waterloo.
We followed up the rear till the middle of the night, We gave them three cheers as they were on their flight, Says Bony, d----n those Englishmen, they do bear such a name, They beat me here at Waterloo, at Portugal and Spain.
Now peace be to their honoured souls who fell that glorious day, May the plough ne’er raise their bones, nor cut the sacred clay; But let the place remain a waste, a terror to the foe, And when trembling Frenchmen pass that way, they’ll think of Waterloo.
THE visit of George IV. to Scotland was purely one of pleasure. There being no railways, and posting being fatiguing, he went by sea, embarking at Greenwich on August 10, 1822, and arriving at Leith on the 14th, not landing, however, till the next day. His visit was not remarkable for anything except the multiplicity of his costumes. He embarked dressed as a private individual; he landed as an Admiral; he dined in full Highland costume (when Sir Walter Scott acted as principal Steward); and at another dinner posed as a Field Marshal. He did very little during his stay, leaving Scotland on August 29, arriving at Greenwich on September 1.
A NEW SONG CALLED
_KING GEORGE IV.’S WELCOME TO SCOTLAND_.
LANG time we’ve waited for our king, That he might caper, rant and fling, And lightly dance and gladly sing, You’re welcome, Royal Geordie.
_Chorus._
But oh! you’re lang a-coming, Lang, lang, lang a-coming, O dinna be so lang a-coming, Come awa, King Geordie.