To cabbage a spark of Promethean fire,
Which they placed in a German doll latticed with wire,
And formed of the scarecrow a Dandy divine,
But mum about tailors—I haven’t paid mine.
And for this, little Brummagem mounts with a smile
His own hackney buggy, and dashes in style
From some livery stable to Cato’s52 Hotel,
And though ’tis a desperate task to be striving
With these sons of John Bull in the science of driving,
We have still a few Jockies who do it as well.
There are two, “par example,” ’tis joy to behold,
With their Haytian grooms trotting graceful behind them,
In their livery jackets of blue, green, and gold,
Their bright varnished hats and the laces that bind them:
The one’s an Adonis, who, since the sad day
That he shot at himself53 has been courted no more;
The other’s a name it were treason to say,
A very great man—with “two lamps54 at his door.”
H.
