Till the eyes are starting and dim:
Beam, and falsehood, and frown,
Frown, and falsehood, and beam,
Till over my lyings I fall asleep,
And flirt my fan in a dream!"
"Flirt, flirt, flirt!
My labour never ends;
And what are its wages? all true men's scorn,
And a dreary dearth of friends.
That shattered life—and this broken heart—