MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION Och! the Coronation! what celebration For emulation can with it compare? When to Westminster the Royal Spinster And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair! 'Twas there you'd see the new Polishemen Make a scrimmage at half after four; And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys, Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning And gould and jewels, and rich di'monds bright. With Gineral Dullbeak. — Och! 'twas mighty fine To see how asy bould Corporal Casey, With his sword drawn, prancing, made them kape the line. Then the guns' alarums, and the King of Arums, And Wellington, walking with his swoord drawn, talking To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame; And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey (They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name), Themselves presading, Lord Melbourne lading The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair, Then the noble Prussians, likewise the Russians, But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a-fishing, There was Baron Alten himself exalting, And Prince Von Schwartzenburg, and many more; Och! I'd be bother'd, and entirely smother'd, To tell the half of 'em was to the fore; With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and dresses, But Mehemet Ali said, quite gintaly, "I'd be proud to see the likes among the Turks!" Then the Queen, Heaven bless her! och! they did dress her The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow; Then the Lord Archbishop held a goulden dish up 66 Then the Nobles kneeling, to the Pow'rs appealing – Then there was preaching, and good store of speeching, With Dukes and Marquises on bended knee; And they did splash her with raal Macasshur, And the Queen said, "Ah! then thank ye all for me!" Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing, And the swate trombones, with their silver tones; But Lord Rolle was rolling, - 'twas mighty consoling To think his Lordship did not break his bones! Then the crames and custard, and the beef and mustard, There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels, With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, Och! the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough, The sly ould Divil, undernathe the stairs. Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wonder'd, Och! if myself should live to be a hundred, Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen! And now, I've ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry. Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher, Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry. Richard Harris Barham BECAUSE Sweet Nea! for your lovely sake And can't compose my slumbers; Because we've pass'd some joyous days, |