The Old English Gentleman.

I'll sing you a good old song, made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman, who had an old estate;
And who kept up his old mansion at a bountiful old rate,
With a good old porter to relieve the old poor at his gate!
Like a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time.


His hall so old was hung around with pikes, and guns, and bows,
And swords and good old bucklers, which had stood against old foes,
And 'twas there "his worship" sat in state, in doublet and trunk hose,
And quaff'd his cup of good old sack to warm his good old nose.
Like a fine old &c.

When winter old, brought frost and cold, he open'd house to all,
And though threescore and ten his years, he featly led the ball:
Nor was the houseless wanderer ever driven from his hall,
For while he feasted all the great, he ne'er forgot the small.
Like a fine old &c.

But, time, though sweet, is strong in flight, and years roll'd swiftly by.
And autumn's falling leaf proclaimed the old man he must die!
He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up life's latest sigh,
And mournful friends stood round his couch and tears bedimn'd each eye.
For the fine old &c.