Fancy,—­when droves appear on
The hill of Holborn, roaring from its top,—­
Your ladies—­ready, as they own, to drop,
Taking themselves to Thomson’s with a Fear-on!

    Or, in St. Martin’s Lane,
Scared by a Bullock, in a frisky vein,—­
Fancy the terror of your timid daughters,
    While rushing souse
    Into a coffee-house,
  To find it—­Slaughter’s!

Or fancy this:—­
Walking along the street, some stranger Miss,
Her head with no such thought of danger laden,
When suddenly ’tis “Aries Taurus Virgo!”—­
You don’t know Latin, I translate it ergo,
Into your Areas a Bull throws the Maiden!

    Think of some poor old crone
Treated, just like a penny, with a toss! 
    At that vile spot now grown
    So generally known
For making a Cow Cross!

Nay, fancy your own selves far off from stall,
Or shed, or shop—­and that an Ox infuriate
    Just pins you to the wall,
Giving you a strong dose of Oxy-Muriate!

Methinks I hear the neighbors that live round
    The Market-ground
Thus make appeal unto their civic fellows—­
“’Tis well for you that live apart—­unable
    To hear this brutal Babel,
But our firesides are troubled with their bellows.”

    “Folks that too freely sup
    Must e’en put up
With their own troubles if they can’t digest;
    But we must needs regard
    The case as hard
That others’ victuals should disturb our rest,
That from our sleep your food should start and jump us! 
    We like, ourselves, a steak,
    But, Sirs, for pity’s sake! 
We don’t want oxen at our doors to rump-us!”

“If we do doze—­it really is too bad! 
We constantly are roar’d awake or rung,
    Through bullocks mad
That run in all the ‘Night Thoughts’ of our Young!”

Such are the woes of sleepers—­now let’s take
The woes of those that wish to keep a Wake!
O think! when Wombwell gives his annual feasts,
Think of these “Bulls of Basan,” far from mild ones;
    Such fierce tame beasts,
That nobody much cares to see the Wild ones!

Think of the Show woman, “what shows a Dwarf,”
    Seeing a red Cow come
    To swallow her Tom Thumb,
And forc’d with broom of birch to keep her off!

Think, too, of Messrs. Richardson and Co.,
When looking at their public private boxes,
    To see in the back row
Three live sheep’s heads, a porker’s, and an Ox’s! 
Think of their Orchestra, when two horns come
Through, to accompany the double drum!

Or, in the midst of murder and remorses,
    Just when the Ghost is certain,
    A great rent in the curtain,
And enter two tall skeletons—­of Horses!