Prince Philibert

Oh, who loves Prince Philibert? Who but myself? His foot’s in the stirrup; His book’s on the shelf; His dapple-grey Dobbin Attends to his whip, And rocks up and down On the floor like a ship.

I went to the pond with him, Just like the sea, To swim his three-decker That’s named after me; His cheeks were like roses; He knew all the rocks; He looks like a sailor In grey knickerbocks.

Oh, where is the keepsake I gave you, my prince? I keep yours in a drawer That smells of a quince: So how can I lose it? But you, giddy thing! Keep mine in your pocket, Mixed up with some string.

Remember the riddle I told you last week! And how I forgave you That scratch on the cheek!

You could not have helped it,-- You never would strike, Intending to do it, The girl that you like!

You call me Miss Stupid, You call me Miss Prue; But how do you like me In crimson and blue? We go partners in findings, And money, and that, You help me in ciphering; Look at my hat!

I love you, Prince Philibert! Who but myself? With your foot in the stirrup, Your book on the shelf! We call you a prince, John, But oh, when you crack The nuts we go halves in, You’re my Filbert Jack!