Spring it is cheery,

Winter is dreary,

Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly;

When he’s forsaken,

Wither’d and shaken,

What can an old man do but die?

Love will not clip him,

Maids will not lip him,

Maud and Marian pass him by;

Youth it is sunny,

Age has no honey —

What can an old man do but die?