The Old Mans Wish: This Old Man he doth wish for Wealth in vain, But he doth not the Treasure gain; For if with Wishes he the same could have, He would not mind nor think upon the Grave. To a pleasant New Play-house Tune.
|
IF I live to grow Old,
|
(for I find I go down)
|
Let this be my Fate
|
in a Country Town;
|
Let me have a warm House,
|
with a Stone at the Gate,
|
And a cleanly young Girl
|
to rub my bald Pate:
|
May I govern my Passion
|
with an absolute sway,
|
And grow wiser and better,
|
as my Strength wears away;
|
Without Gout or Stone,
|
by a gentle Decay.
|
In a Country Town,
|
by a murmuring Brook,
|
The Ocean at distance
|
on which I may look:
|
With a spacious Plain,
|
without Hedge or Stile,
|
And an easie Pad-nagg
|
to ride out a Mile:
|
May I govern my Passion
|
with an absolute sway,
|
To grow wiser and better,
|
as my Strength wears away;
|
Without Gout or Stone,
|
by a gentle Decay.
|
With a Pudding on Sunday,
|
and stout humming Liquor,
|
And Remnants of Latine
|
to puzzle the Vicar;
|
With a hidden reserve
|
of Burgundy Wine,
|
To drink the Kings Health
|
as oft as I dine:
|
May I govern my Passion
|
with an absolute sway,
|
And grow wiser and better,
|
as my Strength wears away;
|
Without Gout or Slone,
|
by a gentle Decay.
|
With Plutarch and Horace,
|
and one or two more
|
Of the best Wits that livd
|
in the Ages before;
|
With a Dish of Roast Mutton,
|
not Venison nor Teal.
|
And clean (tho coarse) Linnen
|
at every Meal;
|
May I govern my Passion, etc.
|
And if I should have Guest,
|
I must add to my Wish,
|
On Frydays a Mess
|
of good buttered Fish;
|
For full well I do know,
|
and the Truth I reveal,
|
I had better do so,
|
than come short of a Meal:
|
May I govern my Passion, etc.
|
With Breeches and Jerkin
|
of good Country Gray,
|
And live without Working,
|
now my Strength doth decay:
|
With a Hogs-head of Sherry,
|
for to drink when I please,
|
With Friends to be merry,
|
and to live at my ease;
|
May I govern my Passion, etc.
|
Without Molestation
|
may I spend my last Days,
|
In sweet Recreation,
|
and sound forth the Praise
|
Of all those that are true
|
to the King and his Laws,
|
Since it be their due,
|
they shall have my Applause:
|
May I govern my Passion, etc.
|
With a Country Scribe
|
for to write my last Will,
|
But not of the Tribe
|
that in chousing have Skill:
|
For my easie Pad-nagg,
|
Ill bequeath to Don John,
|
For hes an arch Wag,
|
and a jolly old Man:
|
May I govern my Passion, etc.
|
With Courage undaunted
|
may I face my last Day,
|
And when I am dead,
|
may the better sort say,
|
In the Morning when sober,
|
in the Evening when mellow,
|
Hes gone, and has left
|
not behind him his Fellow:
|
For he governd his Passion
|
with an absolute sway,
|
And grew wiser and better
|
as his strength wore away,
|
Without Gout or Stone,
|
by a gentle Decay.
|
|
|
|
|
|