  I may not claim her lovely hand, My darling and my pride! I may not ask her to become My bright and beauteous bride; The measure of my love for her May not be said or sung; And all because I'm rather old, And she is rather young. I may not clasp her slender waist, And thread the mazy dance; I may not drive her in the Park, With steeds that neigh and prance. I may not tempt her with my lands, Nor buy her with my gold; And all because she's rather young, And I am rather old. She leaves me for a younger swain, A plump and beardless boy. She slights me for a sugar-plum, Neglects me for a toy. And worst of all, this state of things Can never altered be; For I am nearly sixty-eight, And she is only three. |
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