The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #55420   Message #2734631
Posted By: Jim Dixon
29-Sep-09 - 08:28 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: The Old Bachelor
Subject: Lyr Add: AN OLD BACHELOR (Albert Chevalier)
From Before I Forget: The Autobiography of a Chevalier d'Industrie by Albert Chevalier (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1902), page 176:


By permission of Messrs. Reynolds & Co., 13, Berners Street W.

They call me an old bachelor
I'm known as poor old bachelor,
Although I'm really rich in what this world considers wealth,
But money can't buy everything,
No! money is not everything,
It cannot bring you happiness, it cannot purchase health.
I'm hale and very hearty too,
Play poker and écarté too,
To pass the time away at home—my only home—the Club!
The boys all know my Christian name—
They call me by my Christian name,
And if they're running short of cash and want a modest sub:

They know I've more than I can spend,
I may say that I will not lend,
But still they get it in the end
From a poor old bachelor.

They say I save my money up—
I scrape, and hoard my money up,
Why don't I have a trifle on a gee-gee now and then?
A modest little flutter—
Yes, it's called, I think, a "flutter"
By some of my acquaintances, who pose as sporting men.
"You're old," they say, and "out of date,
A trifle slow at any rate!"
I tell them they're so go-ahead, and p'raps I've lived too long;
I only back the winners—
And I do pick out the winners,
Although before the race they always tell me that I'm wrong.

They envy me my luck, they say,
And I? Well, I can only pray
That know my luck they never may!
A poor old bachelor!

I've been advised to settle down,
To choose a wife and settle down,
To find some homely body who is sensible and good,
A tempting combination!
An unusual combination!
I only smile and say, "I would not marry if I could."
They little guess, when chaffingly
They question me, and laughingly
I answer; how each thoughtless word recalls a dream of youth,
A dream from which I cannot wake!
Of life lived for remembrance sake
They call me woman hater!—if they only knew the truth!

That somewhere, where the flowers are seen,
A white cross marks the spot I mean,
Who keeps a little grave so green?
A poor old bachelor.