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.
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.
Glittering men, and splendid dames,
Thus they enter'd the porch of St. James',
Pursued by a thunder of laughter;
For the Beadle was forced to intervene,
For Jim the Crow, and his Mayday Queen,
With her gilded ladle, and Jack i' the Green,
Would fain have follow'd after !
Beadle-like he hush'd the shout;
But the temple was full "inside and out,"
And a buzz kept buzzing all round about
Like bees when the day is sunny—
A buzz universal, that interfered
With the right that ought to have been revered. As if the couple already were smear'd 'With Wedlock's treacle and honey!
Yet Wedlock's a very awful thing!
'Tis something like that feat in the ring,
Which requires good nerve to do it--
When one of a "Grand Equestrian Troop"
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop,
Not certain at all
Of what may befall
After his getting through it i
But the count he felt the nervous work
No more than any polygamous Turk,
Or bold piratical skipper,
Who, during his buccaneering search,
Would as soon engage a hand in church
As a hand on board his clipper!
And how did the Bride perform her part?
Like any bride who is cold at heart,
Mere snow with the ice's glitter;
What but a life of winter for her!
Bright out chilly, alive without stir,
So splendidly comfortless,—just like a Fir
When the frost is severe and bitter.
Such were the future man and wife!
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life
A few short words were to settle-
"Wilt thou have this woman?"
"I will"-and then,
"Wilt thou have this man?"
"I will," and "Amen"
And those Two were one Flesh, in the Angels' ken. Except one Leg-that was metal.
Then the names were sign'd-and kiss'd the kiss:
And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss,
As a Countess walk'd to her carriage-
Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove,
And Cupid flutter'd his wings above,
In the shape of a fly-as little a Love
As ever look'd in at a marriage!
Another crash-and away they dash'd,
And the gilded carriage and footman flash'd
From the eyes of the gaping people—
Who turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel
Of the Golden Boys beginning a reel,
To the merry sound of a wedding-peal
From St. James's musical steeple.
Those wedding-bells! those wedding-bells!
How sweetly they sound in pastoral dells
From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket!
But town-made joys how dearly they cost;
And after all are tumbled and tost,
Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost
In town-made riot and racket.
The wedding-peal, how sweetly it peals
With grass or heather beneath our heels,—
For bells are Music's laughter!-
But a London peal, well mingled, be sure,
With vulgar noises and voices impure,-
What a harsh and discordant overture
To the Harmony meant to come after !
But hence with Discord-perchance, too soon To cloud the face of the honeymoon
With a dismal occultation!-
Whatever Fate's concerted trick,
The Countess and Count, at the present nick,
Have a chicken, and not a crow, to pick
At a sumptuous Cold Collation.
A Breakfast-no unsubstantial mess,
But one in the style of Good Queen Bess,
Who,-hearty as hippocampus,
Broke her fast with ale and beef,
Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf,
And-in lieu of anchovy-grampus.
A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh,
Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh ;
With wines the most rare and curious-
Wines, of the richest flavour and hue;
With fruits from the worlds both Old and New;
And fruits obtain'd before they were due
At a discount most usurious.
For wealthy palates there be, that scout
What is in season, for what is out,
And prefer all precocious savour:
For instance, early green peas, of the sort
That costs some four or five guineas a quart;
Where the Mint is the principal flavour.
And many a wealthy man was there,
Such as the wealthy City could spare,
To put in a portly appearance—
Men, whom their father's had help'd to gild:
And men, who had had their fortunes to build,
And-much to their credit-had richly fill'd
Their purses by pursy-verance.
Men, by popular rumour at least,
Not the last to enjoy a feast!
And truly they were not idle!
Luckier far than the chestnut tits,
Which, down at the door, stood champing their bits,
At a different sort of bridle.
For the time was come-and the whisker'd Count
Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount,
And fain would the Muse deny it,
But the crowd, including two butchers in blue,
(The regular killing Whitechapel hue,)
Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view
As if they had come to buy it!
Then away! away! with all the speed
That golden spurs can give to the steed,-
Both Yellow Boys and Guineas, indeed,
Concurr'd to urge the cattle-
Away they went, with favours white,
Yellow jackets, and panels bright,
And left the mob, like a mob at night,
Agape at the sound of a rattle.
Away! away! they rattled and roll'd,
The Count, and his Bride, and her Leg of Gold-
That faded charm to the charmer!
Away, through old Brentford rang the din,
Of wheels and heels, on their way to win
That hill, named after one of her kin,
The Hill of the Golden Farmer!
Gold, still gold-it flew like dust!
It tipp'd the post-boy, and paid the trust;
In each open palm it was freely thrust;
There was nothing but giving and taking!
And if gold could ensure the future hour,
What hopes attended that Bride to her bow'r,
But alas! even hearts with a four-horse pow'r
Of opulence end in breaking!
THE moon-the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shady-now bright and sunny-
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range
Is the moon-so call'd-of honey!
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