While young I'm as gay as the maidens in May,
And when dress'd in my holiday cloaths,
Am the joy of the swains, and the pride of the plains,
And may vie with the belles and the beaux.
But my time's of short date, and so hard is my fate,
That when to full stature I'm grown,
I'm cut down by the lout, toss'd and tumbled about,
Till no signs of life can be shown.
