Well, once upon a time, in dribs and drabs,
Income turned up for me, throughout the year;
I’d dry bread and fresh herbs to hand, in case
A friend should unexpectedly appear;
And sometimes there’d be wine to drink, for when
A pretty boy or sweet young girl came here.
But now I’m getting on in years, my life
Has suddenly become much more austere;
I’ve neither dry to eat, nor wet to drink,
And all that’s in my house is me, my dear.