But now, so long you have been "out,"
With weight of years you're laden.
So when you sing of love-sick grief,
And smile so very sweetly,
I, too, behind my handkerchief,
Smile quite unseen, discreetly.
The more you sing the more you smile,
Stout charmer, winsome, winning,
Dressed like Lord Fauntleroy—meanwhile,
Like Cheshire Cat I'm grinning.