My daughter Jane makes dresses
For beautiful Princesses;
But though she’s plain is Jane,
Of needlework she’s vain,
And makes such pretty things
For relatives of Kings.
She reads the picture papers
Where Royalties cut capers,
And often says to me:
‘How wealthy they must be,
That nearly every day
A new robe they can pay.’
Says I: ‘If your Princesses
Could fabric pretty dresses,
Though from a throne they stem
I would think more of them.
Peeress and shopgirl are
To my mind on a par.’
Says Jane: ‘But for their backing
I might be sewing sacking.
Instead, I work with joy
In exquisite employ,
Embroidering rich dresses
For elegant Princesses . . .
Damn social upsetters
Who criticise their betters!’
