Of the pauper mother, when she finds
Her infant's fountains dry.
He'll fill the cruse, and bruise the ear,
To make those founts o'erflow,
For they have vow'd our little Prince
No "vanities" shall know.
And we will rattle our little bell,
And laugh, and dance, and sing as well—
Roo-too-tooit! Shallaballa!
Life to the Prince! Fallallalla!