With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages;
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belonged to coachmen, footmen, nor pages,
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With an old study filled full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks,
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen, that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,
With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows,
And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship’s trunk-hose,
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,
With good cheer enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With an old falconer, huntsmen, and a kennel of hounds,
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds;
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,
And when he died, gave every child a thousand good pounds:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

But to his eldest son his house and lands he assigned,
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiful mind,
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined:
        Like a young courtier of the king’s,
        And the king’s young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,
And takes up a thousand pounds upon his father’s land,
And gets drunk in a tavern till he can neither go nor stand:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a newfangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,
Who never knew what belonged to good housekeeping or care,
Who buys gaudy-coloured fans to play with wanton air,
And seven or eight different dressings of other women’s hair:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a new-fashioned hall, built where the old one stood,
Hung round with new pictures that do the poor no good,
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,
And a new smooth shovel-board, whereon no victual ne’er stood:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a new study, stuffed full of pamphlets and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,
With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,
And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is complete,
With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,
With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,
Who, when her lady has dined, lets the servants not eat:
        Like an old courtier of the queen’s,
        And the queen’s old courtier.

With new titles of honour, bought with his father’s old gold,
For which sundry of his ancestors’ old manors are sold;
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold
        Among the young courtiers of the king,
        Or the king’s young courtiers.