I cannot sing the old songs now! / It is not that I deem them low; / 'Tis that I can't remember how / They go.

I cannot sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.

Life is with such all beer and skittles; / They are not difficult to please / About their victuals.

Read not Milton, for he is dry; nor Shakespeare, for he wrote of common life.

I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.

But I remember more dearly autumn afternoons in bottoms that lay intensely silent under old great trees