The Old Fogey’s Lament.
I would I were a careless child,
Still knowing not how to behave,
With dirty face and hair all wild
And not a bit of need to shave.
The cumbrous ways of manhood’s day
Accord not with my boyish soul;
Again in dreams I “rounders” play,
The top I spin, the ball I roll.
Fortune, take back my house and lands,