There was an old man, and though 'tis not common,
Yet if he said true, his mother was a woman;
And though it's incredible, yet I've been told
He was a mere infant, but age made him old.
Whene'er he was hungry he wanted some meat,
And if he could get it, 'twas said he could eat;
When thirsty he'd drink, if you gave him a pot,
And his liquor most commonly ran down his throat.
He seldom or never could see without light,
And yet I've been told he could hear in the night.
He has oft been awake in the daytime 'tis said,
And has fall'n fast asleep as he lay in his bed.
'Tis reported his tongue always moved when he talked,
And he stirred both his arms and his legs when he walk'd,
And his gait was so odd, had you seen him you'd burst,
For one leg or t'other would always be first.
His face was the saddest that ever was seen,
For if 'twere not washed it was seldom quite clean;
He showed most his teeth when he happened to grin,
His mouth stood across 'twixt his nose and his chin.
At last he fell sick, as old chronicles tell,
And then, as folk said, he was not very well!
And what is more strange, in so weak a condition,
As he could not give fees, he could get no physician.
What a pity he died; yet 'tis said that his death
Was occasioned at last by the want of his breath.
But peace to his bones, which in ashes now moulder,
Had he lived a day longer he'd been a day older.
[Illustration: Piper and Cow.]