I come from England into France,
Neither to learn to sing nor dance,
Nor yet to ride nor fence;
Nor yet to see strange things as those,
Which have returned without the nose.mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}5
They carried out from hence.
But I to Paris rode along,
Just like John Dory in the song,
Upon an holy tide;
For I an ambling nag did get:10
I hope he is not paid for yet,
I spurred him on each side.
And to St. Dennis first I came
To see the sights at Notre Dame,
The man that showeth snuffles;15
Where who is apt for to believe
May see St. Mary's right-hand sleeve,
And her old pantuffles,
Her breast, her milk, her very gown,
Which she did wear in Bethlehem town,20
When in the inn she lay.
That all the world knows is a fable;
For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable
Upon a lock of hay.
Nor carpenter could by his trade25
Gain so much coin as to have made
A gain of such rich stuff:
Yet they (poor souls) think, for her credit,
They must believe old Joseph did it,
'Cause he deserved enough.30
There is one of the Cross's nails,
Which whoso sees his bonnet vails,
And (if he will) may kneel:
Some say 'twas false, 'twas never so;
But, feeling it, thus much I know,35
It is as true as steel!
There is the lanthorn, which the Jews,
When Judas led them forth, did use;
It weighs my weight down-right:
Yet, to believe it, you must think40
The Jews did put a candle in 't;
And then 'twas wonderous light.
There's one saint there did lose his nose,
Another 's head, another 's toes,
An elbow and a thumb.45
But, when we had seen these holy rags,
We went to our inn, and took our nags,
And so away did come.
I came to Paris on the Seine;
'Twas wonderous fair, but little clean:50
'Tis Europe's greatest town.
How strange it is, I need not tell it,
For all the world may eas'liest smell it,
As they pass up and down.
There's many strange things for to see—55
The Palace, the great Gallery;
Place Royal doth excel;
The new bridge and the statue there:
At Notre Dame, St. Christopher,
The steeple bears the bell.60
For learning the University,
And for old clothes the Frippary—
That house the queen did build;
St. Innocent, whose teeth devours
Dead corpse in four-and-twenty hours—65
And there the king was kill'd.
The Basteen and St. Denis Street;
The Spital, like to London Fleet;
The Arsenal, no toy.
But, if you'll see the prettiest thing,70
You must go to court, and see the king:
O, 'tis a hopeful boy!
For he by all his dukes and peers
Is reverenced for wit as much as years:
Nor may you think it much;75
For he with little switch can play,
And can make fine dirt-pies of clay—
O, never king made such!
A bird, that can but kill a fly,
Or prates, doth please his Majesty,80
'Tis known to every one:
The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot;
And he had twenty cannons for it,
And a great galleon.
O, that I e'er might have the hap85
To get the bird!—within the map
'Tis called the Indian Ruck;
I'd give it him, and look to be
As great and wise as Luenie,
Or else I had hard luck.90
Birds round his chamber stands;
And he them feeds with his own hands—
'Tis his humility:
And, if that they want anything,
They may go whistle for their king;95
And he'll come presently.
Besides all this he hath a jerk,
Taught him by nature, for to work
In iron with great ease:
Sometimes into his forge he goes,100
And there he puffs and there he blows,
And makes both locks and keys:
Which puts a doubt in every one,
Whether he were Mars' or Vulcan's son—
Some few believes his mother;105
But yet, let all say what they will,
I am resolved, and will think still,
As much the one as the other.
The people do mislike the youth,
Alleging reasons for a truth,110
Mothers should honoured be;
Yet some believes he loves her rather,
As well as she did love his father—
And that's notoriously.
'Tis charity, for to be known,115
Loves others' children as his own;
Nor must you think it shame;
Unless that he would greater be
Than was his father Henry,
Whose thoughts ne'er did the same.120