Nicely Turned Out

O what can be this terrible palaver
That echoes through the lawful British night,
Distracting the Imperial cadaver
From gloating in its sepulchre so white?

Perhaps another statue's come a-cropper
Through treason of unpatriotic crooks?
Or has another suspect mugged a copper
By giving him those bad, black British looks?

Is it the mighty Tiber madly foaming,
All blue and red with noble blood and prole?
Or is it just a dusty pseudo-Roman,
Revolving in the blackness of his hole?

Sibyl Anglorum