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Old Fumbler
Smug, rich and fantastic, Old Fumbler was known,
That wedded a juicy brisk girl of the town.
Her face like an angel, fair, plump and a maid;
Her lute well in tune, too, could he but have played.
But lost was his skill; let him do what he can,
She finds him In bed a mere silly old man.
He coughs in her ear, "'Tis in vain to come on.
Forgive me, my dear, I'm a silly old man."
She laid his dry hand on her snowy white breast
And from those fair hills gave a glimpse of the best.
But, ah, what Is youth when our life's but a span?
She found him an infant instead of a man.
"Ah, pardon," he cried, "That I'm weary so soon.
You have let down my bass, I'm no longer in tune.
Lay down the dear instrument, prithee lie still.
I can play but one lesson and that I play ill."
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