YOU guess by my wither'd Face,
And Eyes no longer Shining;
That I can't Dance with a Grace,
Nor keep my Pipes from whining:
Yet I am still Gay and Bold,
To be otherwise were a Folly;
Methinks my Blood is grown Cold,
I'll warm it then thus and be jolly,
Jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, jolly, &c.