The Royal Prince unto

The galliant Duke did say,

"Dear Duke, my little son and you Was born the self same day.

"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 tell This gracious message free.

"That offspring of our race,
Whom yesterday you see,
To show our honor for your Grace,
Prince Arthur he shall be.

"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.

But

you have won a hundred fights,

Will match 'em I'll be bound.

"You fought with Bonypart, And likewise Tippoo Saib;

I name you then with all my heart The Godsire of this babe."

That Prince his leave was took,
His hinterview was done.

So let us give the good old Duke
Good luck of his god-son,

And wish him years of joy

In this our time of Schism,

And hope he'll hear the royal boy

His little catechism.

And my pooty little Prince

That's come our arts to cheer,

Let me my loyal powers ewince

A welcomin of you ere.

And the Poit-Laureat's crownd,

I think, in some respex,

Egstremely shootable might be found

For honest Pleaseman X.

THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS.

GALLIANT gents and lovely ladies,
List a tail vich late befel,

Vich I heard it, bein on duty,

At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell.

Praps you know the Fondling Chapel,
Vere the little children sings:
(Lor! I likes to hear on Sundies
Them there pooty little things!)

In this street there lived a housemaid, If you particklarly ask me where

Vy, it vas at four and tventy,

Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square.

Vich her name was Eliza Davis,

And she went to fetch the beer:

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
Of this hinnocent young gal
Pray, saysee, Excuse my freedom,
You're so like my Sister Sal!

You're so like my Sister Sally,
Both in valk and face and size;
Miss, that dang my old lee scuppers,
It brings tears into my heyes!

I'm a mate on board a wessel,

I'm a sailor bold and true; Shiver up my poor old timbers, Let be a mate for you!

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,
This deluded gal to meet:

And at tventy-four was welcome,
Tventy-four in Guilford Street.

And Eliza told her Master,

(Kinder they than Missuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant Brittish Tar.

And he brought his landlady with him, (Vich vas all his hartful plan),

And she told how Charley Thompson Reely vas a good young man.

And how she herself had lived in
Many years of union sweet,

Vith a gent she met promiskous,

Valkin in the public street.