Now the seventh King Henry to memory dear
Was in matters of money a little bit near
At the time of our tale he was quite in a way
For the household expenses were turning him grey
He was harping away on his favorite note
Make a threepenny bit go as far as a groat
When at this of all moments a boon for to beg
There appeared in his presence the good Lady Meg.
Down she knelt at his footstool to make her request
And the moody old monarch she humbly addressed
My liege and my son - for the truth of it is
That the good Lady Meg was a mother of his
Where the Minster of Wimborne upraises its spire
In a tomb are reposing my mother and sire
But the urchins of Wimborne so badly behave
'Tis enough to make both of them turn in their grave
What they need is the teaching of rod and of rule
But they'll never have that till we build them a school
So my son and my liege I have come here to beg
But the king he broke in with "My good Lady Meg"
Sure at your time of life you know better than that
No I cannot and will not afford it - That's flat
But the lady replied with a nod of her head
There's a certain old stocking, lies under my bed
So the monarch arose with benevolent beam
And let none dare to say kings are not what they seem
And he talked of the thing in the tenderest tone
And in fact he proceeded to make it his own
Be it known to you all we have graciously willed
In the good town of Wimborne a school for to build
That the bad little boys from their badness may cease
And the bones of our ancestors slumber in peace
From our people no tax 'tis our will to demand
'Tis a gift we bestow with our own royal hand
Our own worthy masons the task shall fulfill
And our own lady mother shall settle the bill
Now the seventh King Henry has gone to his rest
And the good lady Meg to the bourne of the blessed
Let us heed that her memory fade not away
To her bounty we all are beholden today
Let us heed that her memory fade not away
To her bounty we all are beholden today
|