THE LADIES of St. Jamess
Go swinging to the play;
Their footmen run before them,
With a Stand by! Clear the way!
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
She takes her buckled shoon,
When we go out a-courting
Beneath the harvest moon.
The ladies of St. Jamess
Wear satin on their backs;
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
Before the world is down.
The ladies of St. Jamess!
They are so fine and fair,
You d think a box of essences
Was broken in the air:
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. Jamess!
They re painted to the eyes;
Their white it stays for ever,
Their red it never dies:
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
Her color comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,
It wavers to a rose.
The ladies of St. Jamess!
You scarce can understand
The half of all their speeches,
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.
The ladies of St. Jamess!
They have their fits and freaks;
They smile on youfor seconds,
They frown on youfor weeks:
But Phyllida, my Phyllida!
Come either storm or shine,
From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide,
Is always trueand mine.
My Phyllida! my Phyllida!
I care not though they heap
The hearts of all St. Jamess,
And give me all to keep;
I care not whose the beauties
Of all the world may be,
For Phyllidafor Phyllida
Is all the world to me!
The Ladies Of St. Jamess
written byHenry Austin Dobson
© Henry Austin Dobson