Our Prince a little change would seek,
To town a short adieu he bids;
In Paris spends his Whitsun week,
And takes “the missus and the kids.”
At Dover on the deck he stands
(See ad.—“The shortest of sea routes”),
And hies him o’er to Calais sands
In tourist tweed and untanned boots.
The cares of State no longer vex,
From Fashion’s whirl he steps aside,
And takes a trip, our future Rex,
And with him goes his silver bride.
They take their boys and girls to see
The show no sceptred hand salutes,
And start, from princely trammels free,
In tourist tweeds and untanned boots.
Prince! standing in the blazing light
That beats upon a modern throne,
’Tis not in royal robes bedight,
I ween, your happiest hours are known.
The white stones on your road of life
Mark where you pluck sweet leisure’s fruits,
And with your boys and girls and wife
Go trips in tweeds and untanned boots.