Classic Poem

There's an ancient party
At the other end of town,
They keep a little chandler's shop,
Their ancient names are Brown.
They're such a jolly party,
Such a party I never saw,
But by jingo, I would like to be
That old chap's son-in-law.

Old Brown's daughter
She's a proper sort of girl,
Old Brown's daughter
She's as fair as any pearl.
I wish I were a Lord Mayor,
A marquis or an earl,
I'm blowed if I wouldn't marry
Old Brown's girl.

Old Brown keeps a shop,
Sells anything you please —
Treacle, wood, buns and soap,
Lollipops and cheese.
Miss Brown she minds the shop,
It's a treat to see her serve;
I'd like to run away with her,
But I haven't got the nerve.

Old Brown is often troubled with the gout,
He grumbles in his little parlour
When he can't get out.
Miss Brown she smiles so sweetly
When she hands me the change,
She makes me feel so galvanised
I feel so very strange.

Miss Brown she smiles so sweetly
When I say a tender word.
Old Brown says she'll marry
A marquis or a lord.
I don't suppose that ever
One of those swells I shall be,
But, by jingo, next election
I shall put up as MP.