My pretty maid, I fain would know,
What thing it is will breed delight,
That strives to stand, yet cannot go,
That feeds the mouth that cannot bite:
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
It is a pretty pricking thing,
A pleasing and a standing thing,
It was the truncheon Mars did use,
A bed-ward bit which maidens choose.
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
It is a shaft of Cupid's cut,
'Twill serve to rove, to prick, to butt;
'There's ne'er a maid but by her will,
Will keep it in her quiver still:
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
It is a friar with a bald head,
A staff to beat a cuckold dead;
It is a gun that shoots point-blank,
It hits betwixt a maidens flank:
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
It has a head much like a mole's,
And yet it loves to creep in holes;
The fairest she that e'er took life,
For love of this became a wife:
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!
With a humbledum, grumbledum, humbledum hey!