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.
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.