Sir Guy was a doughty crusader, A muscular knight, Ever ready to fight, A very determined invader.
And Dickey de Lion's delight. Lenore was a Saracen maiden, Brunette, statuesque, The reverse of grotesque;
Her pa was a bagman at Aden, Her mother she played in burlesque. A coryphee pretty and loyal. In amber and red,
The ballet she led; Her mother performed at the Royal, Lenore at the Saracen's Head. Of face and of figure majestic,
She dazzled the cits — Ecstaticized pits;— Her troubles were only domestic, But drove her half out of her wits.
Her father incessantly lashed her, On water and bread She was grudgingly fed; Whenever her father he thrashed her
Her mother sat down on her head. Guy saw her, and loved her, with reason, For beauty so bright, Set him mad with delight;
He purchased a stall for the season And sat in it every night. His views were exceedingly proper; He wanted to wed,
So he called at her shed And saw her progenitor whop her — Her mother sit down on her head. “So pretty,” said he, “and so trusting!
You brute of a dad, You unprincipled cad, Your conduct is really disgusting. Come, come, now, admit it's too bad!
“You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant; Your daughter Lenore I intensely adore And I cannot help feeling indignant,
A fact that I hinted before. “To see a fond father employing A deuce of a knout For to bang her about.
To a sensitive lover's annoying.” Said the bagman, “Crusader, get out!” Says Guy, “Shall a warrior laden With a big spiky knob.
Stand idly and sob. While a beautiful Saracen maiden Is whipped by a Saracen snob? “To London I'll go from my charmer.”
Which he did, with his loot ( Seven hats and a flute ), And was nabbed for his Sydenham armor, At Mr. Ben-Samuel's suit.
Sir Guy he was lodged in the Compter, Her pa, in a rage, Died ( do n't know his age ), His daughter, she married the prompter,
Grew bulky and quitted the stage.
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