AN UNMUSICAL NEIGHBOUR.
BY WILLIAM THOMSON.
I once knew a man who was musical mad—
A hundred years old was the fiddle he had;
I never complained, but whenever he played
I wished I had lived when that fiddle was made.
I once knew a man who was musical mad—
A hundred years old was the fiddle he had;
I never complained, but whenever he played
I wished I had lived when that fiddle was made.