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