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!