I, ———, am a living instance!—
Was I not once a lively laughing boy?
And, in my stripling age, did I not love
The pastimes suited to those madcap days?—
Oh! would to heaven those times were present still!
But wherefore fret myself with hopes so vain?—
The silly thought doth find no shelter here,—
That any beauty, with dark roguish eyes,
With sparkling blood, and rising warmth of youth,
Would e'er affect this wrinkled face of mine:—