I am a broken-hearted milkman, in grief I'm arrayed|
Through keeping of the company of a young servant maid.
Who lived on board and wages the house to keep clean
In a gentleman's family near Paddington Green.
She was as beautiful as a butterfly
and proud as a Queen,
Was pretty little Polly Perkins
of Paddington Green.
She'd an ankle like an antelope and a step like a deer,
A voice like a blackbird, so mellow and clear,
Her hair hung in ringlets so beautiful and long,
I thought that she loved me but I found I was wrong.
When I'd rattle in the morning and cry "Milk below!",
At the sound of my milk cans her face she did show,
With a smile upon her countenance and a laugh in her eye.
If I'd thought that she loved me I'd have laid down to die.
When I asked her to marry me she said 'Oh what stuff',
And told me to drop it, for she'd had quite enough.
Of my nonsense -- At the same time, I'd been very kind,
But to marry a milkman she didn't feel inclined.
"The man that has me must have silver and gold,
A chariot to ride in and be handsome and bold.
His hair must be curly as any watch-spring,
And his whiskers as big as a brush for clothing."
The words that she uttered went straight through my heart
I sobbed and I sighed, and I straight did depart.
With a tear on my eyelid as big as a bean
I bid farewell to Polly and to Paddington Green.
In six months she married, this hard-hearted girl,
But it was not a Wi-count, and it was not a Nearl,
It was not a 'Baronite', but a shade or two wuss,
It was a bow-legged conductor of a tupenny bus.