I weighed, last winter, sixteen stone,--
I'm not a lover now!

I never wish to raise a veil,
I never raise a sigh;
I never tell a tender tale,
I never tell a lie;
I cannot kneel as once I did;
I've quite forgot my bow;
I never do as I am bid,--
I'm not a lover now!

I make strange blunders every day,
If I would be gallant,
Take smiles for wrinkles, black for grey.
And nieces for their aunt;
I fly from folly, though it flows
From lips of loveliest glow;
I don't object to length of nose,--
I'm not a lover now!

The muse's steed is very fleet--
I'd rather ride my mare;
The poet hunts a quaint conceit--
I'd rather hunt a hare;
I've learnt to utter yours and you
Instead of thine and thou;
And oh! I can't endure a Blue!--
I'm not a lover now!