Spring it is cheery,
Winter is dreary,
Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly;

When he's forsaken,
Withered 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?

June it was jolly,
O for its folly!
A dancing leg and a laughing eye!

Youth may be silly,
Wisdom is chilly, --
What can an old man do but die?

Friends they are scanty,
Beggars are plenty,
If he has followers, I know why;

Gold's in his clutches
(Buying him crutches!) --
What can an old man do but die?