In Cottingham Road by Chanterlands I spied a damsel fair With rosy cheeks and ruby lips And ribbons in her hair Said I, "Must be an angel that's Descended from on high To walk these fabled roads alone Beneath the autumn sky." I thought perchance to speak with her And ask from where she came And what could be her heritage Her purpose and her name Made bold, I ambled up to her And did my hat remove To show a gallant style of which I hoped she would approve "Young man," she said, "you'd best be off lest you should catch a cold, For damp's the heath in Chanterlands, And stories have been told Of lads who perished in the dew While hunting bonny quail Because their coats got soggy through Which warmth could not avail." "Oh, no," I cried, "For I am made Of sterner stuff than that!" "Indeed?" said she, "But list to me And put back on your hat. For on your pate I cannot help But spy the shiny spot Upon which is emblazoned "Neath here stands a drunken sot!" "What say you?" and I gasped in shock She said, "It's plain to see Some rascal's played a joke on you! Here, look at this, prithee." She held a pocket mirror up And in its light I saw The shiny spot that did declare That message...'twas nae braw! "My God!" I cried, "Some vile affront This is, I'm sorely vexed!" Said she, "You've kept bad company, I fear, First drink and next, A slow descent into depravity And common vice May soon deprive you of your health, So take my good advice..." "Eschew the company of scoundrels, Scamps and libertines, Peruse instead the classics And subscribe to magazines That honour art and culture And the noble spirit's call And most of all, avoid the poems Of Malcolm Buggeroll!" "That name!" I shrieked, "I might have known! 'Twas just on Friday last When he and I did share a drink...or two... And brief repast That villian's had a joke on me And shaved my head in jest! And on it painted slanderous words To rob me of my rest!" So off I stumbled, red in face, In shame I did retreat But I shall find that Scottish swine And mercillessly beat Him to a pulp for causing me Such sharp embarrassment Before that splendid damsel She is gone now, I lament! In Cottingham Road by Chanterlands There was a damsel fair With rosy cheeks and ruby lips And ribbons in her hair Now nevermore her shall I see And wretched is my fate For Ms Penelope Rutledge has Returned to Twillingsgate!
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