"The Lady of the land, My wife and Sovring dear, It is by her horgust command I wait upon you here. "That lady is as well As can expected be; And to your Grace she bid me tel "That offspring of our race "That name it rhymes to fame; All Europe knows the sound: And I couldn't find a better name If you'd give me twenty pound. "King Arthur had his knights "You fought with Bonypart, That Prince his leave was took, And wish him years of joy In this our time of Schism, And hope he'll hear the royal boy And my pooty little Prince That's come our arts to cheer, And the Poit-Laureat's crownd, THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. GALLIANT gents and lovely ladies, At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell. Praps you know the Fondling Chapel, In this street there lived a housemaid, If you particklarly ask me whereVy, it vas at four-and-tventy Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square. Vich her name was Eliza Davis, In the street she met a party As was quite surprized to see her. Vich he vas a British Sailor, For to judge him by his look: Tarry jacket, canvas trowsies, Ha-la Mr. T. P. Cooke. Presently this Mann accostes 66 "You're so like my Sister Sally, "I'm a mate on board a wessel, "What's your name, my beauty, tell me ;" And she faintly hansers, "Lore, Sir, my name's Eliza Davis, And I live at tventy-four." Hofttimes came this British seaman, And Eliza told her Master (Kinder they than Misuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant British Tar. And he brought his landlady vith him, (Vich was all his hartful plan), And she told how Charley Thompson And how she herself had lived in And Eliza listened to them, And she thought that soon their bands Vould be published at the Fondlin, Hand the clergyman jine their ands. And he ast about the lodgers, (Vich her master let some rooms), Likevise vere they kep their things, and Vere her master kep his spoons. Hand this vicked Charley Thompson Hout to fetch a pint of beer. Hand while pore Eliza vent to To the lodgers, their apartments, Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes. Vile the scoundrle Charley Thompson, Like a fiend in huming shape. But a hi was fixed upon 'em Vich these raskles little sore; Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord Of the house at tventy-four. He was valkin in his garden, Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled; And he called a brother Pleaseman, Hup and down in Guilford Street. And that Pleaseman able-bodied And though vicked Charley Thompson Boulted like a miscrant base, Presently another Pleaseman Took him to the self-same place. And this precious pair of raskles Has for poor Eliza Davis, Simple gurl of tventy-four, |