And lo, in a great metropolis in a far-off land, unto us a child is born, blessed with supernatural powers to command the air waves and occupy vast swathes of the public prints.
Strange signs and portents heralded his birth. At the bottom of the world the ground shook and tall buildings swayed. Out on the edge of deep space communications satellites went into overload meltdown. And from Inverness to Invercargill there was, to paraphrase Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "a willing suspension of cynicism" among the citizenry.
Predictably he will be known as George. I say predictably because, when you think about it, his parents weren't exactly spoilt for choice. Assuming all goes according to plan, baby George will grow up to be king, and therefore requires a name befitting that august role and awesome responsibility.
Those who would have preferred something more modern should pair their choice with the prefix "king,", then say it out loud. Do any of these have a regal ring: King Aiden? King Brayden? King Jayden? How about something a little edgier: King Levi? King Noah? King Kong?
While names go in and out of fashion and it's possible one or more of these will have acquired a tinge of gravitas by the time George ascends to the throne, it would be a high-risk choice that would alienate more people than it would please.
Even the traditional options have shrunk. There have been three King Richards, including Richard I (the Lionheart), who features in the legend of Robin Hood as a benign and heroic figure. But there hasn't been one since Richard III was hacked to death at Bosworth Field in 1485.
Thanks mainly to Shakespeare, he's remembered as a malevolent hunchback who murdered the princes in the Tower.
There have been eight King Henrys, but none since 1547. The fact that Henry VIII was morbidly obese, possibly syphilitic, and had two of his six wives beheaded might explain the hiatus.
There have been eight King Edwards, but the last one was a Nazi sympathiser who precipitated a constitutional crisis by his insistence on marrying an American divorcee.
Edward VII had a couple of things in common with George's grandfather, Prince Charles. Both spent the best years of their lives being the Prince of Wales; Edward was 60 when he succeeded Queen Victoria; Charles is 64.
And Edward's last mistress Alice Keppel was the great-grandmother of Charles' second wife, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, formerly the mistress known as Camilla Parker Bowles.
As aristocrats and horse breeders are fond of saying, breeding will out.
John Key welcomed the birth of "a future king of New Zealand". That's a big call - as things stand, George could easily be as old as Edward VII was when he becomes king. After all, Queen Elizabeth's mother lived to be 100. Charles is next in line, then it will be Daddy's turn.
Even if the scenario floated by those who want William on the throne ASAP - the Queen calls it a day and Charles decides to pass (thereby rendering his adult life completely meaningless) - comes about, it wouldn't necessarily speed up the process.
Only unfortunate developments or William truncating his reign would lead to George becoming king much earlier than looks likely at this point, and two abdications and a "thanks but no thanks" in succession would do more to undermine the institution than a chorus line of American divorcees.
Who knows what New Zealand will look like in 2073, but it seems safe to assume that the country will change as least as much over the next 60 years as it has over the past 60.
In 1953 New Zealand was a British colony in all but name, an essentially monochrome and mono-cultural, socially conservative, highly regulated, God-fearing country that rode on the sheep's back. Today it's none of those things.
The second cloud threatening Key's sunny forecast is that, like it or not, the monarchy is now a branch of celebrity culture. Anyone who doubts that should cast their minds back to the 15 minutes of fame accorded Pippa Middleton's bottom, or ponder the fact that the most popular royal of recent times was George's late grandmother, Diana, the House of Windsor's answer to Marilyn Monroe.
And before the serried ranks of ring-kissers turn puce and put their carrier pigeons on standby to convey furious letters to the editor, let me remind them who validated that comparison - pop star by royal appointment Sir Elton John, when he performed his song about Monroe, Candle in the Wind at Diana's funeral.
The monarchy is founded on mystique; celebrity is a Faustian pact with the media - exposure, but on their terms. That's a hard balancing act to sustain.