And oh! I shall find how, day by day, All thoughts and things look older; How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, And the heart of friendship colder.
Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy, And always blind, and often tipsy; Sometimes for years and years together, She ll bless you with the sunniest weather, Bestowing honour, pudding, pence, You cant imagine why or whence; Then in a momentPresto, pass! Your joys are withered like the grass;