Classic Poem

To the Tune of " Chevy Chase "

When as King John did rule this land
He had an only son,
No more like to his own papa
Than an apple is like a gun.

Which prince, upon a May morning,
Was sitting on a bench,
And there he chanc'd to fall in love
With a dirty cynder wench.

Her hands and face were all begrim'd,
And dirty was her skin;
Her cloaths were nasty, torn, and old,
And all not worth a pin.

Her hair was clotted to her head,
Her nose it stood awry,
And eek her large, blue eyes, God wot,
Did squint most damnably.

Her teeth were rotten in her gums,
Her mouth it was so wide
That, as I live, a coach and six
Within the same might ride.

Her back was hump'd, her breasts like dugs
Did hang her waste adown,
And there commodiously display'd
A skin of wainscot brown.

But, ladies fair, I will no more
This ugly tale pursue,
Lest I should make your hearts full sick,
And turn your stomachs too.

Yet Ah! Alas! and Well-a-Day!
'Twere pity great, I wis,
A prince so nobly born should love
So foul a drab as this.

But love does overcome the wise,
The foolish eek withal,
The young, the old, the rich, the poor,
The great as well as small.

So far'd it with our noble prince;
His love he couldn't conceal,
But thus unto the cynder wench
The same he did reveal.

Thou paragon of beauty bright,
Thou most illustrious dame,
Since I was born my eyes ne'er saw
So exquisite a frame.

Peerless thou art, thine eyes they shine
Like some enliv'ning ray
Which Phoebus darts from out the sky
To gild the dawn of day.

In ev'ry feature of thy face
A thousand charms unite
To captivate our willing hearts,
And bless our wond'rous sight.

The lily white, the blushing rose,
Within thy cheeks combine;
Their lively tinctures blended make
Thy beauties more divine.

The coral equals not thy lips,
Thy teeth in order show
Like bars of polish'd ivory,
Adjusted, row by row.

Like two fair hills of alpine snow
Thy downy breasts appear,
Thy neck as alabaster smooth,
But much more white and clear.

Thy face, thy stature, and thy make,
Thy air and thy address,
Are far beyond the pow'r of verse
Or prose for to express.

Nor do thy beauties crave for ought
Which might the same adorn;
Thy costly robes, so richly deck'd,
Bespeak thee nobly born.

Grant me thy love, O princess fair!
For I adore thee so,
That as you love or hate, so I
Possess or weal or woe.

While thus upon his bended knees
This noble prince implor'd,
His words were met with looks of scorn
From her whom he ador'd.

I mar'l, thou royster rude, quoth she,
What makes thee taunt me so;
I ne'er was so miscall'd before,
I'd have thee for to know.

Full twenty husbands I have had,
All men of mickle might;
And dost thou think I'd stoop so low
To lig by such a wight.

Go, get thee gone, Sir Knave, quoth she;
With that, upon his ear
She gave him such a swinging box
As made him for to rear.

I should have said to reel, but that
Would not have been a rhime;
One word for think and one for sense
Is good at any time.

This box did so alarm the prince,
He straightway on her gaz'd;
But when he saw her ugliness,
Good Lord! he was amaz'd.

Fly, hated object, then said he,
Let me not see thy face;
Thine hideous form I now perceive
With horror and disgrace.

And for that box she gave the prince,
He gave her kicks full twain,
And vow'd that he would never love
A cynder wench again.

Here followeth a right witty application, pithy, and well applied to the whole

You British ladies who have heard
This most enchanting song,
Mark well the application
Does unto you belong.

Your beauties only are divine
While you have lovers score;
But when adorers they grow scant,
Your charms are then no more.

It is the eyes of pore-blind love
Which makes you past compare;
When with indifference we look,
You are but as you were.

Then to your lovers all be kind,
Be kind e'er 'tis too late;
Lest, when the charms decay, you find
The cynder wench's fate.