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The Riddle 
The Riddle 
My pretty maid fain would I know What thing it is will breed delight, That strives to stand yet can not go That feeds the mouth that can not bite. 
cho: With a humbledum grumbledum humbledum grumbledum Humbledum grumbledum hey, With a humbledum grumbledum humbledum grumbledum Humbledum grumbledum hey. 
It is a pretty pricking thing A pleasing and a standing thing 'Twas the truncheon Mars did use A bed-ward bit which maidens choose 
It is a shaft od Cupid's cut 'Twill serve to rove, to prick, to butt There's never a maid, but by her will Will keep it in her quiver still. 
'Tis a Fryer with a bald-head A staff to beat a cuckold dead It is a gun that shoots point-blank It hits betwixt a woman's flank 
It has a head much like a mole's And yet it loves to creep in holes The fairest She that e'er took life For love of this became a wife. 
From Pills to Purge Melancholy, D'Urfey v. 4 apr97