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 conceit¹.

Come and smile, dear, and forget

I boasted so,

I apologise — regret —

It was all a jest; — and — yet —

I do not know.

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