40.
My child, we once were children,
Two children, little and gay;
We crawl’d inside the henhouse,
And hid in the straw in play.
We crow’d as the cocks are accustom’d,
And when the people came by,
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”—and they fancied
’Twas really the cock’s shrill cry.
The chests within our courtyard
With paper we nicely lined,
And in them lived together,
In a dwelling quite to our mind.
The aged cat of our neighbour
Came oft to visit us there;
We made her our bows and our curtsies,
And plenty of compliments fair.
For her health we used to inquire
In language friendly and soft;
Since then we have ask’d the same question
Of many old cats full oft.
We used to sit, while we wisely
Discoursed, in the way of old men,
And lamented that all was better
In the olden days than then;
How love and truth and religion
From out of the world had fled,
How very dear was the coffee,
How scarce was the gold, we said.
Those childish sports have vanish’d,
And all is fast rolling away;
The world, and the times, and religion,
And gold, love, and truth all decay.