Oh, some they like the sailor man, when he comes back to shore.
And some they like the beggar man, who begs from door to door.
And some they like the soldier with his musket and his can;
But my delight can read and write, he's the bold librarian!
Now this librarian he rode out in the dewy mor'n,
And he met a farmer's daughter as he loudly blew his horn.
'Come in, my bold librarian, and I'll make thee a pot of tea,
Me father and mother 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 one for your old father called "Gunfighters of Mustang Creak",
But nothing I have for you, my dear', the librarian did say,
'But anything you shall request, you shall have it right away.'
'Ooo' said the farmer's daughter and she glowed all over with fire,
'Is it true that you can give your readers anything they desire?'
'Oh yes', said the librarian, 'oh yes indeed I will,
Just 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 there he catalogued her from the A unto the Z.
'Till he couldn't classify her under maidens anymore,
He said 'Such dynamic service you have never had before.'
Now this librarian arose and put on all his clothes,
And out from his pockets he withdrew handfulls of gold.
'Take this my dearest Polly, for thee and thy baby,
It really belongs to the Bookfund 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 never could be.
For I am married already to a quiet little thing,
I've a first and second edition and the third coming out in spring.'
'But dost thou truly love me', the farmer's daughter said.
'What do you mean' said the librarian, 'just because we've been to bed?'
'In my most high profession love and sex can not combine'
[spoken]
For 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 should 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 none to do with that roving blade who drives the library van.
And if you take your holidays in that village on the border,
And you hear a boy calling in the cows in alphabetical order,
'Come in, Annie and Betty and Clara and Daisy and Ethel and Fran',
And then you know it must be the son of the Bold Librarian!
