Lord, I’m grey, my face is run,
But by old Harry, I’ve had my fun;
And all about, I seem to see
Lads and lassies that look like me;
Ice-blue eyes on every hand,
Handsomest youngsters in the land.
“Old Stud Horse” they say of me,
But back of my beard I laugh with glee.
Far and wide have I sown my seed,
Yet by the gods I’ve improved the breed:
From byre and stable to joiner’s bench,
From landlord’s daughter to serving wench.
Ice-blue eyes and blade-straight nose,
Stamp of my virile youth are those;
Now you’ll see them on every side,
Proof of my powers, far and wide:
Even the parson’ handsome scamp,
And the Doctor’s daughter have my stamp.
Many a matron cocks an eye
Of secret knowledge as I pass by;
As for the hubbies, what they don’t know
Will never hurt them, so let them go:
The offspring most they seem to prize
Have blade-straight noses and ice-blue byes.
Yet oh, I have a haunting dread
Brother and sister lust the bed;
The Parson’s and the Doctor’s lass,
Yestreen in the moon I saw them pass;
The thought of them wed is like a knife. . . .
Brother and sister – man and wife.