Now for the pome, and be the same token I may remind yer readhers that I've not throubled thim wid big, long Maori words that they wouldn't undherstand. As I sed before, I've thranslated it, at laiste Johnny Sheehan an' mesilf did it bechune us. Av coorse ye may think I've eggsagerated the account o' the meetin'. But be the hookey I have not. It's thrue for me, divil a word o' lie in it.:—

At Coort.
"And doth not a meeting like this make amends."—Moore.
Och 'twas mighty divartin'
To see the Chiefs startin'
His Majesty dhressed like a fox-huntin' gint,
Wid plumes av rich feathers
An' gaithers an' leathers,
He marched wid the air av a king from his tint.
His gossoons were there too,
So comely an' fair too,
(Av coorse this is metaphor used when I sing),
Without more digression,
They walked in procession;
An' then they rushed out, boys, to welcome the King.

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Bad luck to the coat O,
Had the Ngamaniapoto,
Sure Rewi himself was togged out in a mat,
Au' Misther Te Kooti,
The murtherin' brute, he
Had on an ould vest an' a belltopper hat,
And whin we rubbed noses,
Says he "I supposes
Ye'll lind me yer dhudeen, it's friendship I bring,
Me foes I don't chate thim,
Begorra I ate thim,
And now I am hinchman in chief to the King.'"

Thin mighty Ta-why-ho
Began for to cry O,
As layin' his bake be the nose o' Sir George,
He says, "Och me honey,
Although we've no money,
We've plinty o' grub, so sit down for a gorge,
Me stomach is achin'—
We've pig'fi mate an' bacon,
We've shark's head an' porpoise, we've praties an' ling,
Or if ye like sweet mate,
We'll give you a threat, mate—
Ho! roast a fat kid for Sir George," says the King.

The mate an' the whisky
Faix soon made us frisky—
His Majesty's queen is an illigant cook;
And durn' the spreein'
Mesilf, Brown, and Sheehan,
Wor listenin' while Rewi spoke Frinch like a book.
Ses he, "Boys we're chated,
Like bastes we are thrated—
His Majesty's Palace is wantin' a wing,
Our Prince is downhearted
Bekays he's desarted,"
"Yer lyen', bad luck to yer cheek," ses the King.

Thin bould Tapihano
So proudly began a
Most telling oration, ses he, "Boys, mavrone,"
Sir George shouted Kapai,
The divil a dhrop I
Have tasted like this, since I left Innishowen."
Thin Rewi in state O,
Brought the sale o' Potatau,
Not the sale o' pitaties but some other thing,
Ses he, "Arrah, Pat, boy,
Now just look at that, boy,
Sure this was the crest o' the ould ancient king."

Sir George thin addhressed thim,
Begorra be blessed thim,
Ses he "Oh me darlints, the days that are fled
Return in their glory,
Thraditional story
Brings back ould Potaty wid crowa on his head!

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But none in his pocket,
His mim'ry don't mock it,
Like laves from the ivy affection does cling
In love to my bosom,
I'm sorry to lose him,
But still on his throne we've an illigant king."

Then Sheehan spoke Maori,
Begog for an hour he
Kept up a discoorse in that classical tongue,
An' Brown, smooth an' civil—
The sly little divil—
Kept throwin' sheep's eyes at a princess so young.
The great royal hayro
Then danced a Korero,
Wid me an' Sir George while the rest made a ring;
And thin duck and durrish,
Our sperits to nourish,
We tuk as we all sed good-night to the King.