There once were two utopian societies,
Pavonia, land of the peacocks,
And Swannendael, valley of the swans,
Both had failed...miserably,
There behind each chair,
A negro slave,
The blackest of the black,
Attired in white apron and vest,
Standing ready to tend each guest,
Such as the corrupt and exotic governor Lord Cornbury,
Who's custom it was to take a daily stroll,
Dressed in silk gowns like a fashionable lady,
In this he failed...miserably,
Lord Cornbury did this his friends said,
To demonstrate his resemblance to his cousin Queen Ann,
His impetuosity however did not extend to marrying a manor milkmaid,
Chee! he leapt,
Square in shape,
With a hip roof and a belfry in the center...