If you see this song, my dear, And last year’s toast, I’m confoundedly in fear You’ll be serious and severe About the boast.
Blame not that I sought such aid To cure regret. I was then so lowly laid I used all the Gasconnade That I could get.
Being snubbed is somewhat smart, Believe, my sweet; And I needed all my art To restore my broken heart To its conceit.
Come and smile, dear, and forget I boasted so, I apologise—regret— It was all a jest;—and—yet— I do not know.