The Lady Contemplates Resistance
My cousin has come, he pickets the house.
(The king brought this trouble upon us all.)
Shall I have my followers fire on him
And have the house wrecked? When we cousins were small
He dropped ripe peaches into my skirts.
No, I shall curtsey him into the hall
And there we’ll have someone sing us a song.
This way there’ll be peaches along the wall
For my child to pick in the years to come
And hand out freely when cousins call.