 | Berries & Blossoms |  |
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THE PROUDEST LADY.
The Queen is proud on her throne,
And proud are her Maids so fine,
But the proudest lady that ever was known,
Is a little lady of mine.
And oh! she flouts me, she flouts me!
And spurns, and scorns, and scouts me!
Though I drop on my knee, and sue for grace,
And beg and beseech, with the saddest face,
Still ever the same she doubts me.
And proud are her Maids so fine,
But the proudest lady that ever was known,
Is a little lady of mine.
And oh! she flouts me, she flouts me!
And spurns, and scorns, and scouts me!
Though I drop on my knee, and sue for grace,
And beg and beseech, with the saddest face,
Still ever the same she doubts me.
She is seven, by the kalendar,
A lily's almost as tall;
But oh! this little lady's by far
The proudest lady of all.
It's her sport and pleasure to flout me!
To spurn, and scorn, and scout me!
But ah! I've a notion it's nought but play,
And that, say what she will and feign what she may,
She can't well do without me.
A lily's almost as tall;
But oh! this little lady's by far
The proudest lady of all.
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To spurn, and scorn, and scout me!
But ah! I've a notion it's nought but play,
And that, say what she will and feign what she may,
She can't well do without me.
When she rides on her nag, away,
By park and road and river,
In a little hat, so jaunty and gay,
Oh! then she's prouder than ever!
And oh! what faces, what faces!
What petulant, pert grimaces!
Why, the very pony prances and winks,
And tosses his head and plainly thinks
He may ape her airs and graces.
By park and road and river,
In a little hat, so jaunty and gay,
Oh! then she's prouder than ever!
And oh! what faces, what faces!
What petulant, pert grimaces!
Why, the very pony prances and winks,
And tosses his head and plainly thinks
He may ape her airs and graces.
But at times, like a pleasant tune,
A sweeter mood o'ertakes her;
Oh! then she's sunny as skies of June,
And all her pride forsakes her.
Oh! she dances round me so fairly!
Oh! her laugh rings out so rarely!
Oh! she coaxes, and nestles, and purrs, and pries,
In my puzzled face, with her two great eyes,
And owns she loves me dearly.
A sweeter mood o'ertakes her;
Oh! then she's sunny as skies of June,
And all her pride forsakes her.
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Oh! her laugh rings out so rarely!
Oh! she coaxes, and nestles, and purrs, and pries,
In my puzzled face, with her two great eyes,
And owns she loves me dearly.
Ay, the Queen is proud on her throne,
And proud are her Maids so fine;
But the proudest lady that ever was known,
Is this little lady of mine.
Good lack! she flouts me, she flouts me!
She spurns, and scorns, and scouts me!
But ah! I've a notion it's nought but play,
And that, say what she will and think what she may,
She can't well do without me.
And proud are her Maids so fine;
But the proudest lady that ever was known,
Is this little lady of mine.
Good lack! she flouts me, she flouts me!
She spurns, and scorns, and scouts me!
But ah! I've a notion it's nought but play,
And that, say what she will and think what she may,
She can't well do without me.
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