The Infanta The Decemberists

Here she comes in her palanquin
On the back of an elephant
On a bed made of linen and sequins and silk
All astride on her father's line
With the king and his concubines
And her nurse with her pitchers of liquors and milk
And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta

Among five score pachyderm
Each canopied and passengered
Sit the duke and the duchess' luscious young girls
Within sight of the baronness
Seething spite for this live largesse
By her side sits the baron
Her barrenness barbs her
And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta

A phalanx on camelback
Thirty ranks on a forward tack
Followed close, their shiny bright standards a-waving
While behind in their coach, in fours
Ride the wives of the king of Moors
And the veiled young virgin, the prince's betrothed
And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta