The 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 weak 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 soft breast, And from those white hills gave a glimpse of the best: But, ah! What is Age, when our Youth's but a span ?— She found him an infant instead of a man!
"Ah, pardon," he'd cry, "that I'm weary so soon! You have let down my bass, I'm no longer in tune: Lay by the dear instrument, prithee lie still— I can play but one lesson, and that I play ill!"
- Hesperus
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My Thing Is My Own: Bawdy Songs of D'Urfey (1653-1723)
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