LAURA ON me he shall ne'er put a ring, So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble -- For I was but eighteen in spring While his age exactly is double. MAMMA He's but in his thirty-sixth year, Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty, And should you refuse him, my dear, May you die an old maid without pity! LAURA His figure, I grant you, will pass, And at present he's young enough plenty; But when I am sixty, alas! Will not he be a hundred and twenty? |