How oft the black-jack to his lips doth go.
Dame Margery sits in her own still room,
And a matron sage is she;
From thence oft at curfew is wafted a fume.
She says it is rosemary.
But there’s a small cupboard, behind the back stair,
And the maids say they often see Margery there—
Now Margery says she grows very old,
And must take a something to keep out the cold;
But ho, ho, ho, old Simon doth know—