Or this Julia Child ballad (contemporary, of course):

Twas in the early morning
Of a brightly-lit Sunday,
I was cooking for the family,
Just a modest, quick souffle.

I heard a knock upon the door
A knock so bright and gay,
I knew it was the gentle hand
Of the lovely Maggie May.

Her words were kind and caring
And her voice was clear yet faint;
She said that sometimes Maggie May
But other times she Mayn't.