He stepps from out the Broosh
And in the gate is gone,
And X, although the people push,
Says wery kind "Move hon."
The Royal Prince unto
The galliant Duke did say,
"Dear Duke, my little son and you
Was born the self-same day.
"The lady of the land,
My wife and Sovring dear,
It is by her horgust command
I wait upon you here.
"That lady is as well
As can expected be;
And to your Grace she bid me tell
This gracious message free.
"That offspring of our race,
Whom yesterday you see,
To show our honor for your Grace,
Prince Arthur he shall be.
"That name it rhymes to fame;
All Europe knows the sound;
And I couldn't find a better name
If you'd give me twenty pound.
"King Arthur had his knights
That girt his table round,
But you have won a hundred fights,
Will match 'em, I'll be bound.
"You fought with Bonypart,
And likewise Tippoo Saib;
I name you then, with all my heart,
The Godsire of this babe."
That Prince his leave was took,
His hinterview was done.
So let us give the good old Duke
Good luck of his god-son,
And wish him years of joy
In this our time of Schism,
And hope he'll hear the royal boy
His little catechism.