Sir Peter de Wynkin
He loved a fair mayde,
And he wooed ye fair mayde
For hys bride.
But ye ladye cried "no,"
With a toss of her head,
And Sir Wynkin
Disconsolate sighed.
"Now out! and alas!
And alack-a-day me!"
He sang him
In sorrowful tones,
"She loveth me not
Yet, beshrew me!" said he,
"There's a wizard I wot of
Called—Jones."
Was a wizard of note,
And he dwelt in a cave
Hard at hand.
Love-philtres and potions
He sold for a groat,
To ye rich and ye poor
Of ye land.
Sir Wynkin, he sought
This same wizard straightway,
And he told him hys
Dolorous plight.
The wizard cried, "Ha!
If you'll do as I say,
Thys small matter
Can soon be set right."
"Thys potion—a love-philtre
Made extra strong—
To ye ladye, by you,
Must be given."
"Oddzooks!" quoth Sir Wynkin.
"Ye ladye ere long
Shall receive it,
Or e'er I be shriven."
"Ere the morrow is past.
Curiosity'll prompt her
To drink it.
Ye magic will act,
And she'll love me at last.
Ah me! 'Tis sweet joy
E'en to think it."
But alack! and alas!
Ye endyng was sad,
Ye love-philtre caused
Quite a commotion.
For—a toothless old grand-dame
Ye fair ladye had,
And she found, and she drank
Ye love potion!!