'd Johnny Rata, (says a
bang-up Lad in a lily-shallow and upper toggery) where the devil did
you come from? who let you loose upon society? d------e, you ought to
be coop'd up at Exeter 'Change among the wild beasts, the Kangaroos and
Catabaws, and shewn as the eighth wonder of the world! Shew 'em in! Shew
'em in! stir him up with a long pole; the like never seen before;
here's the head of an owl with the tail of an ass--all alive, alive O!
D------me how the fellow stares; what a marvellous piece of a mop-stick
without thrums.--"By gum (says the Bumpkin) you looks more like an ape,
and Ise a great mind to gie thee a douse o' the chops."--You'd soon find
yourself chop-fallen there, my nabs, (replies his antagonist)--you are
not up to the gammon--you must go to College and learn to sing

Oh, London! dear London! &c.

Here the streets are so gay, and the features so smiling,

With uproar and noise, bustle, bother, and gig;
The lasses (dear creatures! ) each sorrow beguiling,

The Duke and the Dustman, the Peer and the Prig;
Here is his Lordship from gay Piccadilly,

There an ould Clothesman from Rosemary Lane;
Here is a Dandy in search of a filly,

And there is a Blood, ripe for milling a pane.

(Spoken)--All higgledy-piggledy, pigs in the straw--Lawyers, Lapidaries,
Lamplighters, and Lap-dogs--Men-milliners, Money-lenders, and Fancy
Millers, Mouse-trap Mongers, and Matchmen, in one eternal round of
variety! Paradise is a pail of cold water in comparison with its
unparalleled pleasures--and the wishing cap of Fortunatus could not
produce a greater abundance of delight--Cat's Meat--Dog's Meat--Here
they are all four a penny, hot hot hot, smoking hot, piping hot
hot Chelsea Buns--Clothes sale, clothes--Sweep, sweep--while a poor
bare-footed Ballad Singer with a hoarse discordant voice at intervals
chimes in with

"They led me like a pilgrim thro' the labyrinth of care,
You may know me by my sign and the robe that I wear;"

~267~~ so that the concatenation of sounds mingling all at once into
one undistinguished concert of harmony, induces me to add mine to the
number, by singing--

Oh, London! dear London! &c.

The Butcher, whose tray meets the dough of the Baker,

And bundles his bread-basket out of his hand;
The Exquisite Lad, and the dingy Flue Faker,{1}