To Vauxhall: Poem by John Hamilton Reynolds

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;--soaked 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 upturned! 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!