There was a Prince--long since, long since!-- To East Cheape did resort, For that he loved _The Blue Boar's Head_ Far better than Crown or Court; But old King Harry in Westminster Hung up, for all to see, Three bells of power in St. Stephen's Tower, Yea, bells of a thousand and three, _Chorus:_ Three bells of power in a timber tower, Thirty thousand and three, For Harry the Fourth was a godly king And loved great godly bells! He bade them ring and he bade them swing Till a man might hear nought else. In every tavern it soured the sack With discord and with din; But they drowned it all in a madrigal Like this, at _The Mermaid Inn_. _Chorus:_ They drowned it all in a madrigal Like this, at _The Mermaid Inn._ "But how did Selden work it?"--"Nobody knows. They will be here anon. Better ask Will. He's the magician!"--"Ah, here comes Dame Dimpling!" And, into the rollicking chaos our good Dame --A Dame of only two and thirty springs-- All lavender and roses and white kerchief, Bustled, to lay the tables. Fletcher flung His arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. But all she said was, "_One--two--three--four--five-- Six at a pinch, in yonder window-seat._" "A health to our Dame Dimpling," Beaumont cried, And Dekker, leaping on the old black settle, Led all their tumult into a song again:-- What is the Mermaid's merriest toast? Our hostess--good Dame Dimpling! Who is it rules the Mermaid roast? Who is it bangs the Mermaid host, Tho' her hands be soft as her heart almost? Dame Dimpling! She stands at the board in her fresh blue gown With the sleeves tucked up--Dame Dimpling! She rolls the white dough up and down And her pies are crisp, and her eyes are brown. So--she is the Queen of all this town,-- Dame Dimpling! Her sheets are white as black-thorn bloom, White as her neck, Dame Dimpling! Her lavender sprigs in the London gloom Make every little bridal-room A country nook of fresh perfume,-- Dame Dimpling! She wears white lace on her dark brown hair: And a rose on her breast, Dame Dimpling! And who can show you a foot as fair Or an ankle as neat when she climbs the stair, Taper in hand, and head in the air, And a rose in her cheek?--O, past compare, Dame Dimpling! "But don't forget those oyster-pies," cried Lyly. "Nor the roast beef," roared Dekker. "Prove yourself The Muse of meat and drink." There was a shout In Bread Street, and our windows all swung wide, Six heads at each.