Now that the high tide of life’s on the slack again,
Pleasure’s deep draught drained down to the lees,
Dearly I wish I had the days back again,
When I wore petticoats down to my knees!
Well do I mind the day I donned trousereens,
My proud mother cried “We’ll soon be a man!”
Little we know what fate has in store for us—
Troth, it was then that my troubles began.
Cramped up in clothes, little comfort or ease I find,
Crippled and crushed, almost frightened to sneeze!