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!'