The Stately Homes Of England-Noel Coward

Lord Elderley, Lrd Borrowmere, Lord Sickert and Lord Camp, With every virtue, every grace, Ah what avails the sceptred race, Here you see-the four of us, And there are so many more of us Eldest sons that must succeed. We know how Caesar conquered Gaul And how to whack a cricket ball; Apart from this, our education lacks co-ordination. Though we're young and tentative And rather rip-representative, Scions of a noble breed, We are the products of those homes serene and stately Which only lately Seem to have run to seed! The Stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand, To prove the upper classes Have still the upper hand; Though the fact that they have to be rebuilt And frequently mortgaged to the hilt Is inclined to take the gilt Off the gingerbread, And certainly damps the fun Of the eldest son- But still we won't be beaten, We'll scrimp and scrape and save, The playing fields of Eton Have made us frightfully brave- And though if the Van Dycks have to go And we pawn the Bechstein Grand, We'll stand By the Stately Homes of England. Here you see The pick of us, You may be heartily sick of us, Still with sense We're all imbued. Our homes command extensive views And with assistance from the Jews We have been able to dispose of Rows and rows and rows of Gainsboroughs and Lawrences, Some sporting prints of Aunt Florence's, Some of which were rather rude. Although we sometimes flaunt our family conventions, Our good intentions Mustn't be misconstrued. The Stately Homes of England We proudly represent, We only keep them up for Americans to rent, Though the pipes that supply the bathroom burst And the lavatory makes you fear the worst, It was used by Charles the First Quite informally, And later by George the Fourth On a journey north. The State Apartments keep their Historical renown, It's wiser not to sleep there In case they tumble down' But still if they ever catch on fire Which, with any luck, they might We'll fight For the Stately Homes of England The Stately Homes of England, Though rather in the lurch, Provide a lot of chances For Psychical Research- There's the ghost of a crazy younger son Who murdered, in thirteen fifty-one, An extremely rowdy Nun Who resented it, And people who come to call Meet her in the hall. The baby in the guest wing, Who crouches by the grate, Was walled up in the west wing In fourteen twenty-eight. If anyone spots The Queen of Scots In a hand-embroidered shroud We're proud Of the Stately Homes of England. Lord Elderley, Lord Borrowmere, Lord Sickert and Lord Camp, Behold us in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy and hard to please. Reading in Debrett of us, This fine Patrician quartette of us, We can feel extremely proud, Our ancient lineage we trace Back to the cradle of the Race Before those beastly Roman bowmen Bitched our local Yeomen. Through the new democracy May pain the old Aristocarcy We've not winced nor cried aloud, Under the bludgeonings of chance what will be- will be. Our heads will still be Bloody but quite unbowed! The Stately Homes of England In valley, dale and glen Produce a race of charming, Innocuous young men. Though our mental equipment may be slight And we barely distinguish left from right, We are quite prepared to fight For our principles, Though none of us know so far What they really are. Our duty to the nation, It's only fair to state, Lies not I pro-creation But what we pro-create; And so we can cry With kindling eye As to married like we go, What ho! For the Stately Homes of England! The Stately Homes of England, Although a trifle bleak, Historically speaking, Are more or less unique. We've a cousin who won the Golden Fleece And a very peculiar fowling-piece Which was sent to Cromwell's niece, Who detested it, And rapidly sent it back With a dirty crack. A note we have from Chaucer Contains a bawdy joke. We also have a saucer That Bloody Mary broke. We've two pairs of tights King Arthur's Knights Had completely worn away. Sing Hey! For the Stately Homes of England. The Stately Homes of England, Tho' rather on the blink Provide a lot of reasons For what we do and think. Tho' we freely admit we may be wrong, Our conviction that we are right is strong Tho' it may not be for long, We'll hold on to it We might as well hold the bat Till they knock us flat Our dignity of race may Retire into its shell Our Minister of Grace may Defend us none too well But still if a child Becomes too wild And we're forced to use the rod, Thank God For the Stately Homes of England