When you lecture to your betters
About “tanks” and “carburettors,”
About “sparking-plugs” and “gears”?
O my Children, in the season of your nonage,
(Which delightful days no longer now exist!)
We could join with other fogeys of our own age
In a quiet game of whist.
Now, at bridge, our very experts are defeated
By some beardless but impertinent young cub,
Who converts our silent table