AN OLD STORY.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 42, 17 October 1891, Page 488

AN OLD STORY.

Oh, you are fair and young, my love, But I am growing old, And in good sooth you do me wrong To ask a story or a song, For all my songs are sung, my love, And all my tales are told. My voice has gone this many a year, My wit has grown so small I’m even forced to speak the truth ; But somewhere lives a lucky youth Who’ll tell you—lies, I think, my dear, But you’ll believe them all. He’ll have a noble scorn of pelf, He’ll sing and sigh and sue, He’ll say his love will last for ay— And Heaven knows what he will not say— I’ve done this sort of thing myself, It is not hard to do. He’ll talk of dying, if you doubt The ardour of his flame ; You’ll save his precious life, my dear, And in a quarter of a year— But there—you’d better find it out— It’s always much the same.

Herbert E. Clarke.