I'll sing you a good old song, that was made by a good old pate, Of a fine old English gentleman, who had an old estate; And who kept up his old mansion at a bountiful old rate, With a good old porter to relieve the old poor at his gate! Like a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time. His hall so old was hung around with pikes, and guns, and bows, And swords, and good old bucklers, which had stood against old foes, And 'twas there "his worship" sat in state, in doublet and trunk hose And quaffed his cup of good old sack to warm his good old nose! Like a fine old, etc. When winter old brought frost and cold, he opened house to all, And though three score and ten his years he featly led the ball, Nor was the houseless wanderer e'er driven from his hall, For while he feasted all the great he ne'er forgot the small -- Like a fine old, etc. But time though sweet is strong in flight, and years rolled swiftly by, And autumn's falling leaf proclaimed the old man he must die! He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up life's latest sigh, A mournful stillness reigned around, and tears bedew'd each eye, For the fine old, etc. Those good old times have passed away, and all such customs fled, We've now no fine old gentlemen, nor young ones in their stead; Necessity has driven hope and charity away, Yet may we live to welcome back that memorable day Which reared those fine old English gentlemen all of the olden time. |