He was a lad—a tender boy,
And she—she held him as her toy,
And when she wearied of his way
And would with other playthings play,
I heard him say beneath his breath:—
A fool am I; it is my death—
She jilted me—the little lass,—
I will not let such fooling pass
But shift at once some bitter dart
Back—back again into her heart,
But then thought he—All those who play
With fools are fools as well as they,
And so he made a living rule:—
It takes a fool to fool a fool.