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My Mistress is a ShuttlecockComposed of cork and feather.Each Battledore sets on her DeckAnd bumps her on the Leather.But cast her off which way you will,She recoils to another still.
Fa la la la la la-la-la, Fa la la la la la la.
My Mistress is a Tennis Ball Composed of cotton fine. She's often struck against the Wall And banded under-line. But if you would her Mind fulfill, You'd pop her in the Hazard still.
My Mistress is a Virginal And little cost will sting her. She's often reared against the Wall For every Man to finger. But if you will your Mistress please, You run division on her Keys.
My Mistress is a Conny fine,She's of the softest SkinAnd if you please to open herThe best Part lies within.And in her Conny-burrow mayTwo Tumblers and a Ferret play.
My Mistress is a Tinder-box,Would I had such a One.Her Steel endureth many a knockBoth by the Flint and Stone.And if you stir the Tinder much,The Match will fire at the Touch.
But why should I my Mistress callA Shuttlecock or Bauble,A Virginal or Tennis Ball—Which things are variable?But to command I'll say no more:My Mistress is an arrant Whore.
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