The Bard’s Speculations.

I’m now turn’d of eighty,1
But not dull or weighty,2
Though fancy perhaps more in shade is ;3
I’ve spirits yet strong4
For a glass and a song,5
And a gay little muse for the ladies.6
My rusty old croak7
Father Time has not broke,8
Though foe to sweet singing’s profession :9
To the harsh and the rough10
He seems tender enough,11
And has left me most ample possession.12
Perhaps, ne’er before13
You saw one of fourscore14
A fanciful light-hearted fellow ;15
But I’ve liv’d from my birth16
’Mid the blossoms of mirth,17
And they are not yet faded and yellow.18
Spleen’s pestilent shade19
Never cover’d my head,20
In a world where there’s friendship and beauty ;21
And this mixture to soothe,22
Turns all rough into smooth,23
And sweetens my heart in its duty.24
The best prize that I know,25
In life’s lottery below,26
Ts to scorn all lamenting and whining ;27
Whate’er be our lot,28
To taste well what we’ve got,29
And sin not by thankless repining.30
This was ever my creed,31
And you’ll see here indeed32
A strong proof that it’s pleasant and healthy ;33
Here I sit, as appears,34
Where I’ve sat fifty years,35
And outlived all the woeful and wealthy.36