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

So let us give the good old Duke Good luck of his G.o.d-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 birth of Prince Arthur.

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, canva.s.s 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 me 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."

Hoftimes 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 vith 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.

And Eliza listened to them, And she thought that soon their bands Vould be published at the Fondlin, Hand the clergymen jine their ands.

And he ast about the lodgers, (Vich her master let some rooms), Likevise vere they kep their things, and Vere her master kep his spoons.

Hand this vicked Charley Thompson Came on Sundy veek to see her; And he sent Eliza Davis Hout to fetch a pint of beer.

Hand while pore Eliza vent to Fetch the beer, dewoid of sin, This etrocious Charley Thompson Let his wile accomplish him.

To the lodgers, their apartments, This abandingd female goes, Prigs their shirts and umberellas; Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes.

Vile the scoundrel Charley Thompson, Lest his wictim should escape, Hocust her vith rum and vater, Like a fiend in huming shape.

But a hi was fixt upon 'em Vich these raskles little sore; Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord Of the house at tventy-four.

He vas valkin in his garden, Just afore he vent to sup; And on looking up he sor the Lodgers' vinders lighted hup.

Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled; Something's going wrong, he said; And he caught the vicked voman Underneath the lodgers' bed.

And he called a brother Pleaseman, Vich vas pa.s.sing on his beat; Like a true and galliant feller, Hup and down in Guilford Street.

And that Pleaseman able-bodied Took this voman to the cell; To the cell vere she was quodded, In the Close of Clerkenwell.

And though vicked Charley Thompson Boulted like a miscrant base, Presently another Pleaseman Took him to the self-same place.

And this precious pair of raskles Tuesday last came up for doom; By the beak they was committed, Vich his name was Mr. Combe.

Has for poor Eliza Davis, Simple gurl of tventy-four, SHE I ope, vill never listen In the streets to sailors moar.

But if she must ave a sweet-art, (Vich most every gurl expex,) Let her take a jolly pleaseman; Vich his name peraps is--X.

DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS.

Special Jurymen of England! who admire your country's laws, And proclaim a British Jury worthy of the realm's applause; Gayly compliment each other at the issue of a cause Which was tried at Guildford 'sizes, this day week as ever was.

Unto that august tribunal comes a gentleman in grief, (Special was the British Jury, and the Judge, the Baron Chief,) Comes a British man and husband--asking of the law relief; For his wife was stolen from him--he'd have vengeance on the thief.

Yes, his wife, the blessed treasure with the which his life was crowned, Wickedly was ravished from him by a hypocrite profound.

And he comes before twelve Britons, men for sense and truth renowned, To award him for his damage, twenty hundred sterling pound.

He by counsel and attorney there at Guildford does appear, Asking damage of the villain who seduced his lady dear: But I can't help asking, though the lady's guilt was all too clear, And though guilty the defendant, wasn't the plaintiff rather queer?

First the lady's mother spoke, and said she'd seen her daughter cry But a fortnight after marriage: early times for piping eye.

Six months after, things were worse, and the piping eye was black, And this gallant British husband caned his wife upon the back.

Three months after they were married, husband pushed her to the door, Told her to be off and leave him, for he wanted her no more.

As she would not go, why HE went: thrice he left his lady dear; Left her, too, without a penny, for more than a quarter of a year.

Mrs. Frances Duncan knew the parties very well indeed, She had seen him pull his lady's nose and make her lip to bleed; If he chanced to sit at home not a single word he said: Once she saw him throw the cover of a dish at his lady's head.

Sarah Green, another witness, clear did to the jury note How she saw this honest fellow seize his lady by the throat, How he cursed her and abused her, beating her into a fit, Till the pitying next-door neighbors crossed the wall and witnessed it.