MAY. And was, and is. I fed him hours ago. 'Tis useless, Frank, you see I shall not stir. FRANK. Still, I had something you would like to hear MAY. No doubt some new frivolity of men. FRANK. Nay, 'tis a thing the gentler sex deplores ... MAY (coming to the window). What is this secret, then? FRANK (mysteriously). There are no eyes more beautiful than yours! GROWING GRAY "On a l'âge de son cœur."-A. D'HOUDETOT, A LITTLE more toward the light; Me miserable! Here's one that's white, Adieu to song and "salad days"; We must reform our rhymes, my Dear,- We have no more the right to find Young Love's for us a farce that's played; No more may tempt us; Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow At once satiric? A fiddlestick! Each hair's a string To which our ancient Muse shall sing The heart's still sound. Shall "cakes and ale" Grow rare to youth because we rail At schoolboy dishes? Perish the thought! 'Tis ours to chant |