These boisterous boys, with bang and fizz,
They make such noisy noise;
But, then, perhaps the reason is,
They are such busy boys.
The girls as well,—from early morn
They shoot and shoot and shoot;
And on a trumpet or a horn
They toot and toot and toot.
But you, whose locks are bleached by Time,
(Or by the Chemist’s aid),
Heed my admonitory rhyme,
Nor join the gay parade.
