Carols of an Old CodgerThe harridan who holds the innAt which I toss a pot,
Is old and uglier than sin,--I'm glad she knows me not.
Indeed, for me it's hard to think,Although my pow's like snow,
She was the lass so fresh and pinkI courted long ago.I wronged her, yet it's sadly trueShe wanted to be wronged:
They mostly do, although 'tis you,The male bloke who is thonged.
Well, anyway I left her thenTo sail across the sea,
And no doubt she had other men,And soon lost sight of me.So now she is a paunchy dameAnd mistress of the inn,
With temper tart and tounge to blame,Moustache and triple chin.
And though I have no proper homeContentedly I purr,
And from my whiskers wipe the foam,--Glad I did not wed her.Yet it's so funny sitting hereTo stare into her face;
And as I raise my mug of beerI dream of our disgrace.
And so I come and come each dayTo more and more enjoy
The joke--that fifty years awayI was her honey boy.
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