Six dukes went afishin' down by yon seaside,
 And they spied a dead body come arolling with the tide.
 They one said to each other, these words I've heard them say:
 "It's the Royal Duke of Grantham, what 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,
 They balmed his body with Roses so sweet.

 He lies betwixt two towers, he lies in cold clay,
 When the Royal Queen of Grantham went weeping away.