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CCXXIII.

And thousands of children, women, and men,
Counted the clock from eight till ten,
From St. James’s sonorous steeple;
For next to that interesting job,
The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob,
There’s nothing so draws a London mob
As the noosing of very rich people.

CCXXIV.

And a treat it was for the mob to behold
The Bridal Carriage that blazed with gold!
And the Footmen tall and the Coachman bold,
In liveries so resplendent–
Coats you wonder’d to see in place,
They seem’d so rich with golden lace,
That they might have been independent.

CCXXV.

Coats, that made those menials proud
Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd,
From their gilded elevations;
Not to forget that saucy lad
(Ostentation’s favorite cad);
The Page, who look’d, so splendidly clad,
Like a Page of the “Wealth of Nations.”

CCXXVI.

But the Coachman carried off the state,
With what was a Lancashire body of late
Turn’d into a Dresden Figure;
With a bridal Nosegay of early bloom,
About the size of a birchen broom,
And so huge a White Favor, had Gog been Groom
He need not have worn a bigger.

CCXXVII.

And then to see the Groom! the Count
With Foreign Orders to such an amount,
And whiskers so wild–nay, bestial;
He seem’d to have borrow’d the shaggy hair
As well as the Stars of the Polar Bear,
To make him look celestial!

CCXXVIII.

And then–Great Jove!–the struggle, the crush,
The screams, the heaving, the awful rush,
The swearing, the tearing, and fighting,–
The hats and bonnets smash’d like an egg–
To catch a glimpse of the Golden Leg,
Which, between the steps and Miss Kilmansegg,
Was fully display’d in alighting!

CCXXIX.

From the Golden Ankle up to the Knee
There it was for the mob to see!
A shocking act had it chanced to be
A crooked leg or a skinny:
But although a magnificent veil she wore.
Such as never was seen before,
In case of blushes, she blush’d no more
Than George the First on a guinea!

CCXXX.

Another step, and lo! she was launched!
All in white, as Brides are blanched,
With a wreath of most wonderful splendor–
Diamonds, and pearls, so rich in device,
That, according to calculation nice,
Her head was worth as royal a price
As the head of the Young Pretender.

CCXXXI.

Bravely she shone–and shone the more
As she sail’d through the crowd of squalid and poor,
Thief, beggar, and tatterdemalion–
Led by the Count, with his sloe-black eyes
Bright with triumph, and some surprise,
Like Anson on making sure of his prize
The famous Mexican Galleon!

CCXXXII.

Anon came Lady K., with her face
Quite made up to act with grace,
But she cut the performance shorter;
For instead of pacing stately and stiff,
At the stare of the vulgar she took a miff,
And ran, full speed, into Church, as if
To get married before her daughter.

CCXXXIII.

But Sir Jacob walk’d more slowly, and bow’d
Eight and left to the gaping crowd,
Wherever a glance was seizable;
For Sir Jacob thought he bow’d like a Guelph,
And therefore bow’d to imp and elf,
And would gladly have made a bow to himself,
Had such a bow been feasible.

CCXXXIV.

And last–and not the least of the sight,
Six “Handsome Fortunes,” all in white,
Came to help in the marriage rite,–
And rehearse their own hymeneals;
And then the bright procession to close,
They were followed by just as many Beaux
Quite fine enough for Ideals.