So Her Majesty, look ye, my subject shall be;
Nay, there I am wrong, so my muse here avers,
My “subject” she can’t be because I am her’s!
Forgive me I beg, if with words I do play,
And “hear a plain man in his own queer plain way,”
And still to my errors in mercy pray lean,
While the wedding I sing of our glorious Queen!
Our cups to the dregs in a health let us drain,
And wish them a long and a prosperous reign;
Like good loyal subjects in loud chorus sing