Marry, and the merriest are the saddest sometimes. I will
leave off motley and wear black, gossip Athelstane. I will turn howler
at funerals, and then, perhaps, I shall be merry. Motley is fit for
mutes, and black for fools. Give me some drink, gossip, for my voice is
as cracked as my brain."
"Drink and sing, thou beast, and cease prating," the Thane said.
And Wamba, touching his rebeck wildly, sat up in the chimney-side and
curled his lean shanks together and began:--
"LOVE AT TWO SCORE.
"Ho! pretty page, with dimpled chin,
That never has known the barber's shear,
All your aim is woman to win--
This is the way that boys begin--
Wait till you've come to forty year!
"Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,
Billing and cooing is all your cheer,
Sighing and singing of midnight strains
Under Bonnybells' window-panes.
Wait till you've come to forty year!
"Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,
Once you have come to forty year.
"Pledge me round, I bid ye declare,
All good fellows whose beards are gray:
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow, and wearisome, ere
Ever a month was passed away?
"The reddest lips that ever have kissed,
The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and whisper and we not list,
Or look away and never be missed,
Ere yet ever a month was gone.
Pages:
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481