 | The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay |  |
149
FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR.
I
A twelvemonth ago I was plain as could be,—There was not a charm or a beauty in me;
My age was eighteen, I was merry as young,
But wisdom or wit never haunted my tongue.
Mine eyes had no lustre, my cheeks had no bloom,
My steps had no grace, and my sighs no perfume:
The reason I'll tell,—it was much to endure,—
All this only happen'd because I was poor.
II
But now, what a change! I am fresh as the morn,All beauties my face and my actions adorn;
Mine eyes are too bright for my wooers to bear;
I'm wise, I'm accomplish'd, I'm good, and I'm fair;
No longer neglected I sit at the ball,
But shine forth the pride or the envy of all.
The reason wouldst know?—then the truth shall be clear—
My uncle has left me five thousand a year!
| The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | |