And a woman and child sadly hamper a fellow that's poor or old.
How can a gentleman work and toil year after year like a slave?
For when you've worked your life away you're asked, "Why did not you
save?"
Not that I would reproach my wife, I daresay she has done her best;
But women can earn such a trifle, and grow weak if they lose their rest.
Not that Aimee has ever grumbled, and I am not to be blamed,
If she choose to work and stitch away from morn till the sunset flamed;
And just the course of my crooked luck, that if but one child we had,
The boy must go and the girl must stay; that boy was a likely lad,
Would have been nineteen if he'd lived, might be earning a good sum now,
For Willie was something like me, wide awake, had a sensible brow;
But Ethel, poor child, her mother again lives in a world of her own,
Sees faces in flowers, hears voices in winds, reads poems from chiselled
stone.
I certainly havn't had the best of luck, I've tried in different lands,
And, as I said, it's a drag to have others upon your hands.
'Twas a most disappointing thing, of course, when that old aunt died at
Ayr,
And only one hundred pounds was left to Aimee, her rightful heir;
Not that I married Aimee for wealth, but I thought it just as sure,
That grand estate, to think of it all, and I lying here so poor.
Ah, I want some brandy! I must have something to make me feel more strong.
Brandy! it is money, and life, and health; what makes Aimee stay so long?
Oh, here you are, make up more fire; I should think you're warm enough
Walking about, let me have that shawl, to-night will be wild and rough.
I must have some more spirit to keep me up, not that I heed the lie,
The doctor told you this morning that before very long I must die.
I expect, if I had some of the gold your old aunt used to keep,
He would manage to raise me up all right--you think I had better sleep,