spring it is cheery,

winter is dreary,

green leaves hang, but the brown must fly;

when he’s forsaken,

wither’d and shaken,

what can an old man do but die?

love will not clip him,

maids will not lip him,

maud and marian pass him by;

youth it is sunny,

age has no honey —

what can an old man do but die?

june it was jolly,

oh for its folly!

a dancing leg and a laughing eye;

youth may be silly,

wisdom is chilly —

what can an old man do but die?

friends, they are scanty,

beggars are plenty,

if he has followers, i know why;

gold’s in his clutches,

(buying him crutches!)

what can an old man do but die?