LINES ON A LATE HOSPICIOUS EWENT.*

BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE FOOT-GUARDS (BLUE).

I

PACED upon my beat

With steady step and slow,

All huppandownd of Ranelagh Street;
Ran'lagh St. Pimlico.

While marching huppandownd

Upon that fair May morn,

Beold the booming cannings sound,

A Royal child is born!

The Ministers of State

Then presnly I sor,

They gallops to the Pallis gate,

In carridges and for.

With anxious looks intent,

Before the gate they stop,

There comes the good Lord President,
And there the Archbishopp.

Lord John he next elights;

And who comes here in haste?
Tis the ero of one underd fights,
The caudle for to taste.

*The birth of Prince Arthur.

Then Mrs. Lily, the nuss,

Towards them steps with joy;

Says the brave old Duke, "Come tell to us, Is it a gal or a boy?"

Says Mrs. L. to the Duke,

"Your Grace, it is a Prince." And at that nuss's bold rebuke He did both laugh and wince.

He vews with pleasant look
This pooty flower of May,
Then says the wenerable Duke,
"Egad, it's my buthday."

By memory backards borne,

Peraps his thoughts did stray
To that old place where he was born
Upon the first of May.

Perhaps he did recal

The ancient towers of Trim;

And County Meath and Dangan Hall
They did rewisit him.

I phansy of him so

His good old thoughts employin';

Fourscore years and one ago

Beside the flowin' Boyne.

His father praps he sees,
Most musicle of Lords,
A playing maddrigles and glees
Upon the Arpsicords.

Jest phansy this old Ero

Upon his mother's knee!

Did ever lady in this land

Ave greater sons than she?

And I shoudn be surprize

While this was in his mind,

If a drop there twinkled in his eyes Of unfamiliar brind.

To Hapsly Ouse next day
Drives up a Broosh and for,
A gracious prince sits in that Shay
(I mention him with Hor!).

They ring upon the bell,

The Porter shows his Ed, (He fought at Vaterloo as vell, And vears a Veskit red).

To see that carriage come,
The people round it press :
"And is the galliant Duke at ome?"
"Your Royal Ighness, yes."

He stepps from out the Broosh
And in the gate is gone;
And X, although the people push,
Says wery kind, "Move hon."

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 tel

This gracious message free.

"That offspring of our race,

Whom yesterday you see,

To show our honour 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.

"King Arthur had his knights
That girt his table round,

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.

1

G

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!)