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 tell

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.

THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY

AND MARY BROWN

Nigstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek

A

I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak,
Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see,

Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin of she.

This Mary was pore and in misery once,

And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce.
She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner nor no tea,

And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three.

Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks
(Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax),
She kep her for nothink, as kind as could be,
Never thinkin that this Mary was a traitor to she.

"Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill;
Will you just step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill?"
"That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she;
And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be.

No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped,
Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed;
She hopens all the trunks without never a key—
She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free.

Mrs. Roney's best linning, gownds, petticoats, and close,
Her children's little coats and things, her boots, and her hose,
She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flee.
Mrs. Roney's situation-you may think vat it would be!

Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay,
Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day.
Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see
But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she?

She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man,
They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand;
And the Church bells was a ringin for Mary and he,

And the parson was ready, and a waitin for his fee.

When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown,
Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground.
She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me;
"I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman," says she.

"Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go,

I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know,

But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may see,
And this young man is a waitin," says Mary says she.

"I don't care three fardens for the parson and clark,
And the bell may keep ringin from noon day to dark.
Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me;
And I think this young man is lucky to be free."

So, in spite of the tears which bejew'd Mary's cheek,
I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak;
That exlent Justice demanded her plea—
But never a sullable said Mary said she.

On account of her conduck so base and so vile,
That wicked young gurl is committed for trile,
And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea,
It's a proper reward for such willians as she.

Now you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep,
From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep,
Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek,
To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak.