"A Sailor every inch,"[A]
Toasting "Mamma!" in a stiff brew
Without a sign of flinch,
My Prince,
Without one sign of flinch.

In Seventy-One he stood beside
Your door in sad "Suspense."[B]
We saw the turn in that dark tide
With thankfulness intense,
My Prince,
With gratitude intense.

From stage to stage your course he's marked
Abroad as eke at home;
Where'er you've travelled, toiled, skylarked;
And now mid-age has come,
My Prince,
And now mid-age has come.

Come as it comes to all. Most true!
But, "let the galled jade wince,"
Still _Punch's_ pencil pictures you
As every inch a Prince,
My Prince,
Yes, every inch a Prince!

And now your Jubilee we greet,
With hearty English joy,
Who, as those Fifty Years did fleet,