London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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THE LADY I LOVE |
 | London lyrics |  |
125
THE LADY I LOVE
The Lady I sing is as charming as Spring,
I own that I love the dear Lady I sing:
She is gay, she is sad, she is good, she is fair,
She lives at a Number in O--- Square.
I own that I love the dear Lady I sing:
She is gay, she is sad, she is good, she is fair,
She lives at a Number in O--- Square.
It is not 21, it is not 23—
You never shall get at her Number from me;
If you did, very soon you'd be mounting the stair
Of Number (no matter what!) O--- Square.
You never shall get at her Number from me;
If you did, very soon you'd be mounting the stair
Of Number (no matter what!) O--- Square.
They say she is clever. Indeed it is said
She is making a Novel right out of her Head!
That poor little Head! If her Heart were to spare
I'd break, and I'd mend it in O--- Square.
She is making a Novel right out of her Head!
That poor little Head! If her Heart were to spare
I'd break, and I'd mend it in O--- Square.
126
I've a heart of my own, and, in prose as in rhymes,
This heart has been fractured a good many times;
An excellent heart, tho' in sorry repair—
Little Friend, may I mend it in O--- Square?
This heart has been fractured a good many times;
An excellent heart, tho' in sorry repair—
Little Friend, may I mend it in O--- Square?
“What nonsense you talk.” Yes, but still I am one
Who feels pretty grave when he seems full of fun;
Some people are pretty, and yet full of care—
And Some One is pretty in O--- Square.
Who feels pretty grave when he seems full of fun;
Some people are pretty, and yet full of care—
And Some One is pretty in O--- Square.
I know I am singing in old-fashioned phrase
The music that pleased in the old-fashion'd days;
Alas, I know, too, I've an old-fashion'd air—
Oh, why did I ever see O--- Square!
The music that pleased in the old-fashion'd days;
Alas, I know, too, I've an old-fashion'd air—
Oh, why did I ever see O--- Square!
Postscript
The writer of prose, by intelligence taught,Says the thing that will please, in the way that he ought,
But your poor despised Bard, who by Nature is blest,
(In the scope of a couplet, or guise of a jest),
Says the thing that he pleases as pleases him best.
| London lyrics | |