THE LADIES of St. James’s | |
| Go swinging to the play: | |
| Their footmen run before them, | |
| With a “Stand by! Clear the way!” | |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | 5 |
| She takes her buckled shoon, | |
| When we go out a-courting | |
| Beneath the harvest moon. | |
| |
| The ladies of St. James’s | |
| Wear satin on their backs; | 10 |
| They sit all night at Ombre | |
| With candles all of wax. | |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | |
| She dons her russet gown, | |
| And runs to gather May dew | 15 |
| Before the world is down. | |
| |
| The ladies of St. James’s! | |
| They are so fine and fair, | |
| You’d think a box of essences | |
| Was broken in the air; | 20 |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | |
| The breath of heath and furze. | |
| When breezes blow at morning, | |
| Is not so fresh as hers. | |
| |
| The ladies of St. James’s! | 25 |
| They’re painted to the eyes; | |
| Their white it stays for ever, | |
| Their red it never dies: | |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | |
| Her colour comes and goes; | 30 |
| It trembles to a lily,— | |
| It wavers to a rose. | |
| |
| The ladies of St. James’s! | |
| You scarce can understand | |
| The half of all their speeches, | 35 |
| Their phrases are so grand: | |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | |
| Her shy and simple words | |
| Are clear as after rain-drops | |
| The music of the birds. | 40 |
| |
| The ladies of St. James’s! | |
| They have their fits and freaks; | |
| They smile on you—for seconds, | |
| They frown on you—for weeks; | |
| But Phyllida, my Phyllida! | 45 |
| Come either storm or shine, | |
| From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, | |
| Is always true—and mine. | |
| |
| My Phyllida! my Phyllida! | |
| I care not though they heap | 50 |
| The hearts of all St. James’s, | |
| And give me all to keep; | |
| I care not whose the beauties | |
| Of all the world may be, | |
| For Phyllida—for Phyllida | 55 |
| Is all the world to me! | |
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