THE NURSE'S SOLILOQUY.
How do I dote upon my royal charge,
Born to be great, and growing to be large;
Sprung, in his beauty, from the parent-tree,
An heir, and eke a-parent too, is he.
Dear bellowing babby—apple of my eye,
A young trump-card, turn'd in the royal rubber;
As Duke of Cornwall, how he used to cry,
And now he's Prince of Whales—oh! wont he blubber!
Pray, Mrs. Lilly, when is His Royal Highness to be dressed en grande tenue? Don't know, my lady; at present he is dressed in the nursery.
The Parlour and The Cellar.