The Aged, Aged Man
Reading edition
[Listen] [XML] [PDF]
Tune "I give thee all, I can no more," adapted by T. Moore from H. Bishop, arranged by L. Broadwood.
I'll tell thee ev'rything I can; There's little to relate. I saw an aged, aged man, A-sitting on a gate. "Who are you, aged man?" I said. "And how is it you live?" And his answer trickled through my head Like water through a sieve. He said, "I look for butterflies That sleep among the wheat: I make them into mutton pies, And sell them in the street. I sell them unto men," he said, "Who sail on stormy seas; And that's the way I get my bread— A trifle, if you please." But I was thinking of a plan To dye one's whiskers green, And always use so large a fan That they should not be seen. So, having no reply to give To what the old man said, I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!" And thumped him on the head. His accents mild took up the tale: He said "I go my ways, And when I find a mountain rill, I set it in a blaze; And thence they make a stuff they call Rowlands' Macassar Oil— Yet two-pence-halfpenny is all They give me for my toil!" But I was thinking of a way To feed oneself on batter, And so go on from day to day Getting a little fatter. I shook him well from side to side, Until his face was blue: "Come, tell me how you live," I cried, "And what it is you do!"
He said, "I hunt for haddocks' eyes Among the heather bright, And work them into waistcoat-buttons In the silent night. And these I do not sell for gold Or coin of silv'ry shine, But for a copper halfpenny, And that will purchase nine." "I sometimes dig for buttered rolls, Or set limed twigs for crabs; I sometimes search the grassy knolls For wheels of Hansom-cabs! And that's the way" (he gave a wink) "By which I get my wealth— And very gladly will I drink Your honour's noble health." I heard him then, for I had just Completed my design To keep the Menai bridge from rust By boiling it in wine. I thanked him much for telling me The way he got his wealth, But chiefly for his wish that he Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I put My fingers into glue, Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot Into a left-hand shoe, Or if I drop upon my toe A very heavy weight, I weep, for it reminds me so Of that old man I used to know— Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, Whose hair was whiter than the snow, Whose face was very like a crow, With eyes, like cinders, all a-glow, Who seem'd distracted with his woe, Who rocked his body to and fro, And muttered mumblingly and low, As if his mouth were full of dough; Who snorted like a buffalo That summer ev'ning, long ago, A-sitting on a gate!
[Enlarge]
