In Nottingham there dwells a lass,
Of three-score-years-and-ten,
With whom I jocund hours did pass;
The loves were with us then.

With more of love than money bless'd,
You'd said, if you had seen us;
For all the capital possess'd
Was half-a-crown between us.

An ample stock of beauty we
Inherited, you'd own;
But then the looker-on might see--
That stock was her's alone.

She was nineteen, and blithe as May,
And I was twenty-one;
Both pleas'd while time pass'd smooth away.
But now the loves are gone.

I had her heart, and she had mine;
We thought the change most clever;
But Fortune said, 'a nymph so fine
I must not keep for ever.'

Our faces not a wrinkle bore,
Except made by a smile;
But now with lines they're cover'd o'er,
Much like the new-plough'd soil.

Had either of us rivall'd been,
'Twould set that one a weeping;
Now neither of us cares a pin,
For hearts not worth the keeping.

Her taper waist, you'd really think,
Made from a London doll;
But is, by many a cup of drink,
Completely two arms full.

My knee was highly gratified
Whene'er to sit she bent;
But now her pond'rous bulk applied
Would make that knee repent.

The hairs that grew upon our crown,
And numerous as our sins,
Unfortunately tumbled down,
And grow upon our chins.

Mutation waited on those charms
I fancied half divine;
She fell into Miss Conduct's arms,
Miss Prudence fell in mine.

That name's disgrac'd in parish-books,
Once lovely to my view,
While mine a little brighter looks,
Varnish'd with E.s.q.

Familiariz'd to poverty,
On charity she stays;
While Fortune has enabled me
To run a pair of grays.