First, we polish off some batches Of political dispatches, And foreign politicians circumvent; Then, if business isn't heavy, We may hold a Royal levee, Or ratify some acts of Parliament; Then we probably review the household troops-- With the usual "Shalloo humps!" and "Shalloo hoops!" Or receive with ceremonial and state An interesting Eastern Potentate, After that we generally Go and dress our private valet-- (It's rather a nervous duty--he's a touchy little man) Write some letters literary For our private secretary-- He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can. Then, in view of cravings inner, We go down and order dinner; Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate-- Spend an hour in titivating All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting; Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State. Oh, philosophers may sing Of the troubles of a King; Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great; But the privilege and pleasure That we treasure beyond measure Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State! After luncheon (making merry On a bun and glass of sherry), If we've nothing particular to do, We may make a Proclamation, Or receive a Deputation-- Then we possibly create a Peer or two. Then we help a fellow creature on his path With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath: Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State To a festival, a function, or a _fete_. Then we go and stand as sentry At the Palace (private entry), Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro, While the warrior on duty Goes in search of beer and beauty (And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go). He relieves us, if he's able, Just in time to lay the table, Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at half-past twelve or one, With a pleasure that's emphatic, We retire to our attic With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done. Oh, philosophers may sing Of the troubles of a King, But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none; And the culminating pleasure That we treasure beyond measure Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done! THE ROVER'S APOLOGY. Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray; Though I own that my heart has been ranging, Of nature the laws I obey, For nature is constantly changing. The moon in her phases is found, The time and the wind and the weather, The months in succession come round, And you don't find two Mondays together. Consider the moral, I pray, Nor bring a young fellow to sorrow, Who loves this young lady to-day, And loves that young lady to-morrow.