The Old Fumbler. A SONG: Set by Mr. Hen. Purcell.

The Old Fumbler.

A SONG: Set by Mr. Hen. Purcell.

I.

SMug, rich and fantastick old Fumbler was known, That wedded a Juicy brisk Girl of the Town, Her Face like an Angel, Fair, Plump, and a Maid, Her Lute well in tune too, cou'd he but have plaid; But lost was his Skill let him do what he can, She finds him in Bed a weak silly old Man, He Coughs in her Ear, 'tis in vain to come on, Forgive me, my Dear, I'm a silly old man.

II.

She laid his dry hand on her snowy soft Breast, And from those white Hills gave a glimpse of the Best; But ah! what is Age when our Youth's but a Span, She found him an Infant instead of a Man: Ah! Pardon, he'd cry, that I'm weary so soon, You have let down my Base, I'm no longer in tune, Lay by the dear Instrument, prethee lie still, I can play but one Lesson and that I play Ill.