John Bull must handsomely come down With something every year, And he may truly to the child, Say, “You’re _a little dear_!” Sad thoughts will fill his head whene’er He hears the infant rave, Because when hearing a _wight squall_ It brings a _notion grave_! Howe’er let’s give the Princess joy, Though now’s her happiest lot, For sorrow tends a _palace_ more Than e’er it does a _cot_! If in some years a son appears, Her claim to rule were vain, And being near the _court_ she’ll have To _stand out of the_ REIGN! QUICK, Printer, 42, Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell, and at 8, Little Paternoster Row, Spitalfields. [Illustration] QUEEN’S WANTS At Child Birth; or, what a bother IN THE PALACE. _London, November 21st, 1840._ Come all good people list to me, I will tell you of a jovial spree, News from London has come down, That a young princess has come to town. CHORUS. What a bother in the palace, In the month of November, Such a bother in the palace You never did see. Now all those things, as I heard say, The Queen did want upon that day, Night-caps, gowns, frocks, and frills, And old John Bull must pay the bills. I must get all things I can, A child’s chair and a small brown pan, Nine hundred and forty gallons of rum, And a sponge to wash her little bum. A great deal of money I want, You must put it down to my account, Tops and bottoms, and sugar plums, And a ring to rub her little gums. I want a copper to make pap in, And fifty-three dozen of napkins, And when she’s christened, oh, dear me! Wont we have a jovial spree. I cannot help thinking, oh, what fuss There was in calling in the nurse, Run for a napkin, open the door, The child has dirtied on the floor. At three months old she’ll learn to walk, Italian, Dutch, and Spanish, talk, She’ll jump Jim Crow and catch the flies, We’ll whip her bottom if she cries. When Albert and I goes out to ride, We’ll have our darling by our side, And on her head we’ll place a crown, I’ll beat her well if she wets my gown. At the christening we’ll have such joys, Sour crout, palonies, and saveloys, There’ll be all my friends from Germany, Coburghs and all the bugs to tea. When she was born there was a pull, On the purse of old John Bull, With fair promises, I will be bound, They’ll coax him out of ten thousand pounds. There was such work I do suppose, For to put on the baby’s clothes, Oh, nurse, look here, how very silly, You’ve run a pin in the little girl’s belly. God bless the Queen, we wish her joy, And may the next one be a boy, And if they both should crave for more Let’s hope they will have half-a-score. MAY THE QUEEN LIVE FOR EVER.