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The tailer thus did close

(A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose,

And spoke with Hirish brogue ; “I'm Smith O'Brine, of Royal Line

Descended from Rory Ogue,

“When great O'Connle died,

That man whom all did trust,
That man whom Henglish pride

Beheld with such disgust,
Then Erin free fixed eyes on me,

And swoar I should be fust.

“. The glorious Hirish Crown,'

Says she, it shall be thine: Long time, it's wery well known,

You kep it in your line ; That diadem of hemerald gem

Is yours, my Smith O'Brine.

6. Too long the Saxon churl

Our land encumbered hath ; Arise my Prince, my Earl,

And brush them from thy path ; Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep em vith

The besom of your wrath.'

“ Then in my might I rose,

My country I surveyed,
I saw it filled with foes,

I viewed them undismayed ;
Ha, ha! says I, the harvest's high,

I'll reap it with my blade.

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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 its my buthday.”

By memory backards borne,

Peraps his thoughts did stray
To that old place where he was born,

Upon the first of May.

Peraps 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 bis 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.

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