A Riddle

This version sourced from The Mangy Mongol songbook, page 92, AS XLIII.

Lyrics

My pretty maid, fain would I know,
What thing it is 'twill breed delight,
That strives to stand, that cannot go,
That feeds the mouth that cannot bite.

CHORUS:
With a humble down, grumble down, humble down, hey
Humble down, grumble down, humble down, hey.

It is a pretty pricking thing,
A pleasing and a standing thing.
It was the truncheon Mars did use,
A Bedward bit that maidens choose.

CHORUS

It is a friar with a bald head;
A staff to beat acukold dead.
It is a gun that shoots point blank,
It hits betwixed a maiden's flanks.

CHORUS

It is a shaft of Cupid's cut,
'Twill serve to rove, to prick, to butt.
'Twas ne'er a maid but by her will,
Will keep it in her quiver still.

CHORUS

It has a head much like a mole's
And yet it loves to creep in holes.
THe fairest maid that e'er took life,
For love of this became a wife.