Air—“’Tis the last Rose of Summer.”

’Tis my la-a-st pair of bre-e-eches

Le-e-ft sa-a-dly a-lone;

Ah—and she too with her riches,

With another hence has gone.

Oh, they seemed in one piece knitted,

Such a pair is seldom matched;

Winter buckskin, how they fitted!

Large plaid pattern, never patched!

Strutting proudly as a turkey,