Volume 101 — THE FIRE KING'S ABDICATION.

"My palate is parched with Pierian thirst, Away to Parnassus I'm beckoned." I sing of the glories of Fire King the First! (Who's fit to be Fire King the Second?) Captain EYRE MASSEY SHAW is a "Sovereign" indeed, Abdicating? Alas! that too true is; For he's a Fire King of a different breed From the Monarch described by MONK LEWIS. No mere King of Flames, fiery-faced à la SKELT, Inhabiting regions most torrid, With a breath that is warranted copper to melt, And eyes indescribably horrid. He hath not a blazing Bardolphian nose, He is not flamboyant or furious; His Crown's a brass helmet, his Sceptre a hose; True Fire King,—all others are spurious. For he rules the flames; he has done so for long; And now that he talks of retiring, Men mourn for the fire-queller cautious and strong, Whose reign they've so long been admiring. Clear-headed, cool Captain, great chief M.F.B., All London is sorry to lose you; As kindly as kingly, from prejudice free; No danger could daunt or confuse you. As doffing your helmet, and dropping your hose, You bid us farewell, we all own you As one of Fiend Fire's most redoubtable foes; As that thirty years we have known you. Our Big Boards might job, and our Big Wigs might jaw, But, spite of their tricks and their cackle, One Chief we could trust; we were sure that our SHAW His duty would manfully tackle. So farewell, great Fire King! Your crown you lay by; E'en you cannot lay by your credit. Ignipotent Knight? Well, you ought to stand high In the next Honour-List! Punch has said it!