  HISTORY, and nature, too, repeat themselves, they say; Men are only habit’s slaves; we see it every day. Life has done its best for me—I find it tiresome still; For nothing’s everything at all, and everything is nil. Same old get-up, dress, and tub; Same old breakfast; same old club; Same old feeling; same old blue; Same old story—nothing new! Life consists of paying bills as long as you have health; Woman? She’ll be true to you—as long as you have wealth; Think sometimes of marriage, if the right girl I could strike; But the more I see of girls, the more they are alike. Same old giggles, smiles, and eyes; Same old kisses; same old sighs; Same old chaff you; same adieu; Same old story—nothing new! Go to theatres sometimes to see the latest plays; Hero, same; same villain; and same heroine in tears, Starving, homeless, in the snow—with diamonds in her ears. Same stern father making “bluffs”; Leading man all teeth and cuffs; Same soubrettes, still twenty-two; Same old story—nothing new! Friend of mine got married; in a year or so, a boy! Father really foolish in his fond paternal joy; Talked about that “kiddy,” and became a dreadful bore— Just as if a baby never had been born before. Same old crying, only more; Same old business, walking floor; Same old “kitchy—coochy—coo!” Same old baby—nothing new! Harry B. Smith. |
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