Classic Poem

Go order my ponies; so brilliant a Sunday
Is certain to summon forth all the elite;
And cits who work six days, and revel but one day,
Will trudge to the West End from Bishopsgate Street:
See! two lines of carriages almost extending
The whole way from Grosvenor to Cumberland Gate;
The Duchess has bow'd to me! how condescending!
I came opportunely — I thought I was late.

I'm certain my ponies, my cream-colour'd ponies,
Will cause a sensation wherever I go;
My page, in his little green jacket, alone is
The wonder of all! Oh, I hope he won't grow!
How young Sir Charles looks, with his hat so well fitted
To show on the left side the curls of his wig!
I wonder that yellow post-chaise was admitted;
And there's an enormity — three in a gig!

Dear me! Lady Emily bow'd to me coolly;
Oh! look at that crazy old family-coach!
That cab is a mercantile person's — 'tis truly
Amazing how those sort of people encroach!
Good gracious! the pole of that carriage behind us
Is going to enter my phaeton's back!
Do call to them, Robert! Oh! why won't they mind us?
I hear it! I feel it! bless me what a crack!

Don't glance at the crowd of pedestrians yonder,
There's vulgar Miss Middleton looking this way.
Let's drive down to Kensington Gardens; I wonder
We haven't met Stanmore this beautiful day.
They've upset the Countess's carriage, how frightful!
Do look at Sir David — he'll drive here till dark;
Let's go where the crowd is the thickest; delightful!
My cream-colour'd ponies, the pride of the Park!