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.
