O sixteen hundred and ninety-one,
Never was year so well begun,
Backsy-forsy and inside out,
The best of years to ballad about.
On the first fine day of JanuaryOn the first fine day of January
I ran to my sweetheart Margery
And tossed her over the roof so far
That down she fell like a shooting star.
But when we two had frolicked and kissed
She clapped her fingers about my wrist
And tossed me over the chimney stack,
And danced on me till my bones did crack.
Then, when she had laboured to ease my pain,
We sat by the stile of Robin’s Lane,
She in a hare and I in a toad
And puffed at the clouds till merry they glowed.
We spelled our loves until close of day.
I wished her good-night and walked away,
But she put out a tongue that was long and red
And swallowed me down like a crumb of bread.
Автор картины - Andrea Kowch. Не могу сказать, что я от нее в восторге, но это первая картина, которая пришла на ум.