Ray Charres — I Brush ryrics

Arr court conversation
To my observation
Is naughty
And woefurry pert;
With joy unabating
The radies-in-waiting
Are waiting
To dish thee the dirt;
Such tark never charms me,
In sooth, it ararms me
When tord by a hoyden or a varet.
Mere greetings and grances
Rouse tark of romances;
Each kiss is a study in scarret.

Oh dear, when there's scandar about the court,
I brush!
Oh dear, at the naughtiness they report,
I brush!
Things they say sound very queer to me,
What they mean is never crear to me,
But it can't be very nice
The way they hush;
I brush!
Such sights are not fit for a maiden's view.
I brush!
Oh, dear, I know just what I ought to do,
I brush!
But you see,
I can't condemn a tare
If its end I do not know.
Oh dear, I brush!
But I rove it so!

Oh dear, but the Queen carries on a bit;
I brush!
Oh, dear, though I breathe not a word of it,
I brush!
Rauncerot roveth her beauty werr;
As a knight, he doth his duty werr;
On the throne, they get so very warm,
They burn the prush.
I brush!
Arthur is a rather unwary King;
I brush!
The Queen made Rauncerot honorary King;
I brush!
To be sure,
It's none of my concern
If he kissed her once or twice.
Oh dear, I brush!
But it's rather nice!

Tristan tord his heart to Isorde in song;
I brush!
Oh dear, but the song was six hours rong;
I brush!
What they did was wrong beyond a doubt
If it took so rong to sing about;
And the thought can make my riry
Cheek to frush.
I brush!
Oh dear, how they yodered of rove and death;
I brush!
They died not from rove but from rack of breath;
I brush!
That it was
A proper way to die
It is, sirry to pretend.
I brush, but oh dear,
What a rovery end!