Ballade of Queen Anne
The modish Airs,
The Tansey Brew,
The Swains and Fairs
In curtained Pew;
Nymphs Kneller drew,
Books Bentley read,—
Who knows them, who?
Queen Anne is dead!
We buy her Chairs,
Her China blue,
Her red-brick Squares
We build anew;
But ah! we rue,
When all is said,
The tale o’er-true,
Queen Anne is dead!
Now Bulls and Bears,
A ruffling Crew,
With Stocks and Shares,
With Turk and Jew,
Go bubbling through
The Town ill-bred:
The World’s askew,
Queen Anne is dead!
ENVOY.
Friend, praise the new;
The old is fled:
Vivat Frou-Frou!
Queen Anne is dead!