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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review Capping Carnival 1920

A Prince of the Blood

A Prince of the Blood

A Prince of the blood we are—
In fact, we have always been—
page 28 Our wife must be quite particular—
We're son of a king and queen.
So they toured us about in U.S.A.,
But they'd never a girl to suit;
Were now inspecting the distinguees,
Colonial maids (here's a choice array),
Till we make up our mind to do it.

Chorus:
We only wish he'd do it.
But oh, the notes the ladies word so neatly.
To coax a word of thanks!
And oh, the photographs all smiling sweetly!
(Especially from the Yanks!)
But we've a heart that falls in love discreetly—
That's twice a week, old bean—
And the Knave of Hearts they call us,
From the gent who stole off all those
Sweet young things when trying to draw the Queen.

The life of a modern Prince
Isn't all it's cracked up to be;
All your life you endure folks' stares and squints.
With never a chance to spree;
At luncheons, reviews with blaring bands.
You smile 'midst great applause;
But you miss the colonial wonderlands,
For you have to shake kiddies' and soldiers' hands
With the tip of your aching paws.

At Panama a lassie jazzed divinely—
How we shocked the chaperones!
Hawaiian belles can fox-trot superfinely,
With twinkles all their own.
In Rotorua maids haka-ed leoninely
(Our nose has been tender since);
But at Wellington the dances
Are official sets of lancers—
Which is Hades for a really modern Prince.