The Old Man

I'm old enough to be married I wis, Full ninety summers have made me ripe; For seventy years I could damsels kiss, Of me is the tough grand oak the type, I up my brimmers full as an egg! I can strut about with my elbows square, My hat I can take off under my leg, Right nimbly I can dance—look there

This globe is mine, and I'll kick it about, And I will marry a buxom maid. To please my sweet woman I han't a doubt, When in my bridal gear array'd. My night cap's made of the finest lace, Our wedding bed's of the softest down, To me she'll turn her charming face, And neighbours laugh when the stocking's thrown.