The Stately Homes Of England Lyrics - Noël Coward

Lord Elderley, Lrd Borrowmere, 

Lord Sickert and Lord Camp, 

With every virtue, every grace, 

Ah what avails the sceptred race, 

Here you see-the four of us, 

And there are so many more of us 

Eldest sons that must succeed. 

We know how Caesar conquered Gaul 

And how to whack a cricket ball; 

Apart from this, our education lacks co-ordination. 

Though we're young and tentative 

And rather rip-representative, 

Scions of a noble breed, 

We are the products of those homes serene and stately 

Which only lately 

Seem to have run to seed! 

The Stately Homes of England, 

How beautiful they stand, 

To prove the upper classes 

Have still the upper hand; 

Though the fact that they have to be rebuilt 

And frequently mortgaged to the hilt 

Is inclined to take the gilt 

Off the gingerbread, 

And certainly damps the fun 

Of the eldest son- 

But still we won't be beaten, 

We'll scrimp and scrape and save, 

The playing fields of Eton 

Have made us frightfully brave- 

And though if the Van Dycks have to go 

And we pawn the Bechstein Grand, 

We'll stand 

By the Stately Homes of England. 

Here you see 

The pick of us, 

You may be heartily sick of us, 

Still with sense 

We're all imbued. 

Our homes command extensive views 

And with assistance from the Jews 

We have been able to dispose of 

Rows and rows and rows of 

Gainsboroughs and Lawrences, 

Some sporting prints of Aunt Florence's, 

Some of which were rather rude. 

Although we sometimes flaunt our family conventions, 

Our good intentions 

Mustn't be misconstrued. 

The Stately Homes of England 

We proudly represent, 

We only keep them up for 

Americans to rent, 

Though the pipes that supply the bathroom burst 

And the lavatory makes you fear the worst, 

It was used by Charles the First 

Quite informally, 

And later by George the Fourth 

On a journey north. 

The State Apartments keep their 

Historical renown, 

It's wiser not to sleep there 

In case they tumble down' 

But still if they ever catch on fire 

Which, with any luck, they might 

We'll fight 

For the Stately Homes of England 

The Stately Homes of England, 

Though rather in the lurch, 

Provide a lot of chances 

For Psychical Research- 

There's the ghost of a crazy younger son 

Who murdered, in thirteen fifty-one, 

An extremely rowdy Nun 

Who resented it, 

And people who come to call 

Meet her in the hall. 

The baby in the guest wing, 

Who crouches by the grate, 

Was walled up in the west wing 

In fourteen twenty-eight. 

If anyone spots 

The Queen of Scots 

In a hand-embroidered shroud 

We're proud 

Of the Stately Homes of England. 

Lord Elderley, Lord Borrowmere, 

Lord Sickert and Lord Camp, 

Behold us in our hours of ease, 

Uncertain, coy and hard to please. 

Reading in Debrett of us, 

This fine Patrician quartette of us, 

We can feel extremely proud, 

Our ancient lineage we trace 

Back to the cradle of the Race 

Before those beastly Roman bowmen 

Bitched our local Yeomen. 

Through the new democracy 

May pain the old Aristocarcy 

We've not winced nor cried aloud, 

Under the bludgeonings of chance what will be- will be. 

Our heads will still be 

Bloody but quite unbowed! 

The Stately Homes of England 

In valley, dale and glen 

Produce a race of charming, 

Innocuous young men. 

Though our mental equipment may be slight 

And we barely distinguish left from right, 

We are quite prepared to fight 

For our principles, 

Though none of us know so far 

What they really are. 

Our duty to the nation, 

It's only fair to state, 

Lies not I pro-creation 

But what we pro-create; 

And so we can cry 

With kindling eye 

As to married like we go, 

What ho! 

For the Stately Homes of England! 

The Stately Homes of England, 

Although a trifle bleak, 

Historically speaking, 

Are more or less unique. 

We've a cousin who won the Golden Fleece 

And a very peculiar fowling-piece 

Which was sent to Cromwell's niece, 

Who detested it, 

And rapidly sent it back 

With a dirty crack. 

A note we have from Chaucer 

Contains a bawdy joke. 

We also have a saucer 

That Bloody Mary broke. 

We've two pairs of tights 

King Arthur's Knights 

Had completely worn away. 

Sing Hey! 

For the Stately Homes of England. 

The Stately Homes of England, 

Tho' rather on the blink 

Provide a lot of reasons 

For what we do and think. 

Tho' we freely admit we may be wrong, 

Our conviction that we are right is strong 

Tho' it may not be for long, 

We'll hold on to it 

We might as well hold the bat 

Till they knock us flat 

Our dignity of race may 

Retire into its shell 

Our Minister of Grace may 

Defend us none too well 

But still if a child 

Becomes too wild 

And we're forced to use the rod, 

Thank God 

For the Stately Homes of England