In days of old the amorous swain would sigh
And say unto his lady love the while
He pressed her to his heaving low-cut vest,
“Dost love me, sweet?” And she, with many a blush,
Would softly answer, “Yes, my cavalier!”
Now to his girl the ragtime lover says,
The while he strums his marked-down mandolin
“Is you ma lady love?” and she, his girl,
Makes answer thus: “Ah is!”
Gadzooks! it makes me sad! I see the doom