And though, p'raps, this seems like a slight
In the depths of my innermost soul
I've a notion the Captain is right.
In short, I may freely admit
I am not what you'd call a great catch;
But yet my initials are writ
In the book against every match!
For although—ay, and there is the rub—
I am forty and running to fat,
I have made it all right with the Club,