Ninety times over let May-day pass
(If you should live, which you won't I fear),
Then you will know that you were but an ass,
Then you will shudder and moan, "Alas!
Would I had known it some Ninety Year!"
Pledge him round! He's a Man, I declare;
His heart is warm, though his hair be grey.
Modest, as though a record so fair,
A brain so big, and a soul so rare,
Were a mere matter of every day.