A Riddle 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, humble down, humble down, hey, Humble down, humble 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. It is a friar with a bald head, A staff to beat a cuckold dead. It is a gun that shoots point blank, It hits between a maiden's flank. 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. 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. From Pills to Purge Meloncholy, D'urfy KS apr96
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