To Vauxhall

The cold transparent ham is on my fork--
It hardly rains--and hark the bell!--ding-dingle--
Away! Three thousand feet at gravel work,
Mocking a Vauxhall shower!--Married and Single
Crush--rush;--Soak'd Silks with wet white Satin mingle.
Hengler! Madame! round whom all bright sparks lurk,
Calls audibly on Mr. and Mrs. Pringle
To study the Sublime, &c.--(vide Burke)
All Noses are upturn'd!--Whish--ish--! On high
The rocket rushes--trails--just steals in sight--
Then droops and melts in bubbles of blue light--
And Darkness reigns--Then balls flare up and die--
Wheels whiz--smack crackers--serpents twist--and then
Back to the cold transparent ham again!