“November’s sky is chill & drear
November’s Leaf is Red and Sear.”
November dull! — oh much misjudging world!
The month fair pleasure’s banner is unfurl’d
The month she smiles in each smug city face
And calls to dinner, with so sweet a grace.
And not to dinner only, does she call
She gives the ladies and the beaux a ball
That those who eat and those who dance may share
The feast & riddle of the good Lord Mayor.
November dull! again surpris’d I cry
So might as well be said November’s sky
Is dark and gloomy & and that no bright sun
Informs us citizens the day’s begun —
Nay some may add, that fog & London smoke
Are noisome both, but these must speak in joke
For when the vapour rises thick & brown
Veiling the beauties of the Eastern Town
Thrice happy he who trotting on the road
A gust invited to some friend’s abode
Hails the sure omen of the coming feast
And snuffs the gale & spurs his tired beast
So when some timid but yet curious wight
Hath climb’d a hill to view the dreadful fight
There sitting snug, secure, & wrapt in cloak
See where the battle rages by the smoke —
“The gloomy month of November
When Englishmen hang or drown themselves”
But sure, — the month that to our Isle did bring
William of Orange, patriotic king —
To every British bosom must be dear
And prove an antidote to fell despair
The great Eliza too, who graced our throne
In this same month acceded to the crown
That thought alone, might warm a Briton’s heart
And love of life & cheerfulness impart —
Let us not here forget the tale to tell
That in the first King James’s reign befell
But hold! ’twere needless to relate the plot
By patriot school boys ne’er to be forgot!
Whilst still amidst the little shouting throng
Grim visaged Guy, is borne in state along
Whilst squibs & crackers, every boy’s delight
And blazing bonfires crown’d the noisy night.
Now gentle Muse, e’en let the faggots burn
While we, shall to a theme more pleasing turn,
Though the last mention’d yet I deem it best,
The annual meeting of the Attic Chest.
When friendly cuties merciful & kind
Praise where they can, while to our faults they’re blind,
The summons all attend with one consent
By proxy some, but not one non-content.
The Lord Mayor’s Fool