Classic Poem

Six dukes went a-fishing
Down by yon seaside.
One of them spied a dead body
Lain by the waterside.

The one said to the other,
These words I heard them say:
"It's the royal Duke of Grantham
That the tide has washed away.'

They took him up to Portsmouth,
To a place where he was known;
From there up to London,
To the place where he was born.

They took out his bowels,
And stretched out his feet,
And they balmed his body
With roses so sweet.

Six dukes stood before him,
Twelve raised him from the ground,
Nine lords followed after him
In their black mourning gown.

Black was their mourning
And white were the wands,
And so yellow the flamboys
That they carried in their hands.

He now lies betwixt two towers,
He now lies in cold clay,
And the royal Queen of Grantham
Went weeping away.