A Library Folk Song

The Bold Librarian
by Joy Rutherford

Oh some they like the sailor man
When he comes back to shore,
And some they like the beggar man
That begs from door to door,
And some they like the soldier man
With his musket and his can,
But my delight can read and write
He's the bold librarian!

Now, this librarian, he rode out, all in the dewy morn,
And he met with the farmer's daughter and loudly he blew his horn.
"Come in my bold librarian, and I'll mek thee a pot of tea.
Me mother and father have gone to town and there's nobody here but me."

"I have a book for your mother, dear, called 'Love that dare not speak',
And another for your old father called 'Gunfighters of Mustang Creek',
But nothing I have for you, my dear," this librarian did say,
"But anything you shall request you shall have it right away."

"Oo", said the farmer's daughter and she glowed all over with fire.
"Is it true you can bring your readers anything they desire?"
"Oh yes" said the bold librarian, "Oh yes, indeed I will."
Take me up to your chamber and I'll show you my....professional skill."

So they went upstairs together and they laid down on the bed,
And he faceted her in every detail from 'A' unto 'Zed',
'Til he couldn't classify her under maidens any more.
He said "Such dynamic service you've never had before."

Now this librarian he arose and he put on all his clothes
And out of his pocket he drew handuls of gold,
Saying' "Take this my dearest Polly, for thee and thy baby.
It really belongs to the Book Fund, but I'll give it all to thee."

"Oh come, my bold librarian, and won't you marry me?"
"Oh no, my dearest Polly, such things can never be,
For married I am already to a quiet little thing.
I've a first and second edition and a third due in the spring."

"But dost tha truly love me?" the farmer's daughter said.
"What d'you mean", said the librarian, "Just because we've been to bed?"
In my most high profession love and sex cannot combine,
Because SEX is 612.6, and LOVE, which I classify under virtues not
otherwise accounted for is 179.9"

Come all you pretty fair maids, this warning you must heed;
You must marry some simple ploughboy who can neither write nor read.
For he may be poor and humble, but he'll love you the best he can.
And have naught to do with that roving blade who drives the library van.