THE

LORD MAYOR'S SHOW,

                IN 1837.

Come high and low attention give,
And you shall quickly hear,
About the Queen Victoria,
And the new Lord Mayor.

            CHORUS.

Then haste away without delay,
All classes high and low,
To see our Queen Victoria,
At the Lord Mayor's Show.

You never saw the like before,
And that you must confess.
The last that went was old Queen Anne,
And before her maiden Bess.

How old King Charles will cheer her,
As he sits on his horse,
He will shake hands with her Majesty,
When passing Charing Cross.

There some with veils & some with rings
And some with dondy lockets,
Look put, the Queen is coming,
So good people mind your pockets.

Here's the French, Turks & Spaniards,
Rusians, Sweeds and Portuguese,
The Humhugs and the Coburgs too,
All skipping on like fleas.

Three hundred thousand carriages,
This procession you must know,
Will just reach from St. James's,
To the other side of Bow.

And when they get near Temple Bar,
They will see a pretty rig,
Old Gog will dance a hornpipe,
And Magog dance a jig.

Old women on the river,
For a wager is going to swim,
For a half an ounce of scented snuff,
And a half a pint of gin.

When the Queen gets up to Guildhall,
Gog and Magog gay and fine,
Will put her Majesty in a wheelbarrow,
And drive her into dine.

The Dukes and Lords and Squires too,
Will all take off their hats,
And invite the Queen to drink some wine
And eat a bushel of sprats.

They will bow before her Majesty,
There honour will be seen,
They will rejoice with heart and voice,
And sing God save the Queen.

Some that will go the sights to see,
Will disappointments meet,
They'd see as well on Hounslow Heath,
Now wont that be a treat.

Within a mile you will not get,
I am sure of fam'd Guildhall,
Some will lose their hats & some their shoes
And some their bonnets and shawls.

One thousand loads of gravel,
They on the ground did toss,
To make the road so fine,
From Guildhall to Charing Cross.

So to conclude my ditty,
Let us banish grief and pain,
And may Victoria live to go
To the Lord Mayor's show ag

            CHORUS.

Let mirth be seen, God save the
We'll sing without delay,
There never was such sights be
On a Lord Mayor's day.

                           JOHN MORG

WESTMINSTER :—Printed for the Vendors