But, good-bye, I must be off,--he's gone to take the chair!
So my love to Mrs. Punch, and no more about the Mayor."
* * * * *
PUNCH'S PAEAN TO THE PRINCELET.
Huzza! we've a little prince at last,
A roaring Royal boy;
And all day long the booming bells
Have rung their peals of joy.
And the little park-guns have blazed away,
And made a tremendous noise,
Whilst the air hath been fill'd since eleven o'clock
With the shouts of little boys;
And we have taken our little bell,
And rattled and laugh'd, and sang as well,
Roo-too-tooit! Shallabella!
Life to the Prince! Fallalderalla!
Our little Prince will be daintily swathed,
And laid on a bed of down,
Whilst his cradle will stand 'neath a canopy
That is deck'd with a golden crown.
O, we trust when his Queenly Mother sees
Her Princely boy at rest,
She will think of the helpless pauper babe
That lies at a milkless breast!
And then we will rattle our little bell.
And shout and laugh, and sing as well--
Roo-too-tooit! Shallabella!
Life to the Prince! Fallalderalla!
Our little Prince, we have not a doubt,
Has set up a little cry;
But a dozen sweet voices were there to soothe,
And sing him a lullaby.
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