FAIREST of the fairest, rival of the rose,

That is Mabel of the Hills, as everybody knows.

Do you ask me near what stream this sweet floweret grows?

Ask you what her age is, reckoned as time goes?

Just the age of beauty, as everybody knows.

Is she tall as Rosalind, standing on her toes?

She is just the perfect height, as everybody knows.

What’s the color of her eyes, when they ope or close?

Just the color they should be, as everybody knows.

Is she lovelier dancing, or resting in repose?

Both are radiant pictures, as everybody knows.

Do her ships go sailing on every wind that blows?

She is richer far than that, as everybody knows.

Has she scores of lovers, heaps of bleeding beaux?

That question’s quite superfluous, as everybody knows.

I could tell you something, if I only chose!—

But what’s the use of telling what everybody knows?