They plainly zeed his royal nose,
And zum his royal eyes;
And, Lord! whatever peart they zeed,
In this they one and all agreed,
’Twas glorious, gert, and wize.
There is a rollicking swing about the whole composition, which keeps the narrative going like the steady onward pace of a racing eight-oar.
The conclusion at which Jan Ploughshare arrives is vastly droll:—
Theeze once I’ve made myzelf a vool
And now I feel my courage cool
For zeeing Royal things;