Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Old Bachelor

The Old Bachelor.

When I was a schoolboy, aged ten,
Oh! mighty little Greek I knew;
With my short striped trousers, and, now and then,
With stripes upon my jacket too.
When I saw other boys to the playground run,
I threw my old gradus by;
And I left the task I had scarce begun—
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

When I was at college, my pride was dress,
And my groom, and my bit of blood,
But as for my study, I must confess,
That I was content with my stud.
I was deep in my tradesmen's books, I'm afraid,
Though not in my own, by-the-by;
When clamorous creditors came to be paid,
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

I was just sixteen when I first fell in love,
And I scribbled a deal of rhyme,
And I talked to myself in a shady grove,
And I thought I was quite sublime.
I was torn from my love—'twas a dreadful blow—
And the lady she wiped her eye;
But I didn't die of grief—oh, dear me, no!
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

The next was a lady of rank—a dame
With blood in her veins, you see;
With the leaves of Peerage she fanned the flame
That now was consuming me.
But though of her great descent she spoke,
I found she was still very high;
And I thought looking up to a wife no joke—
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

My next penchant was for one whose face
Was her fortune, she was so fair;
Oh! she spoke with an air of enchanting grace,
But a man cannot live upon air;
And when poverty enters the door, young love
Will out of the casement fly;
The truth of the proverb Pd no wish to prove—
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

My next was a lady who loved romance,
And wrote very splendid things;
And she said, with a sneer, when I asked her to dance,
"Sir, I ride upon a horse with wings."
There was ink on her thumb, when I kissed her hand,
And she whispered, "If you should die,
I will write you an Epitaph, gloomy and grand I"
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

I left her and sported my figure and face
At opera, party, and ball;
I met pretty girls at every place,
And I found a defect in all.
The first did not suit me, I cannot tell how,
The second, I cannot tell why,
And the third, bless me, I will not marry now—
"There'll be time enough for that," said I.

I looked in the glass, and I thought I could trace
A sort of a wrinkle or two;
So I made up my mind that I'd make up my face,
And come out as good as new.
To my hair I imparted a little more jet,
And I scarce could suppress a sigh;
But I cannot be quite an old bachelor yet,
"No, there's time enough for that," said I.

I was now fifty-one, yet I still did adopt
All the airs of a juvenile beau;
But somehow, whenever the question I popped,
The girls, with a laugh, said "No."
I am sixty to-day, not a very young man,
And a bachelor doomed to die;
So youth be advised, and marry while you can—
"There's no time to be lost," say I.