Now, young people, the fine weather
Will soon be gone.
Go and tennis play together
Upon the lawn.
While the sun shines make your hay
Between the showers.
Improve, like busy bees, to-day,
The shining hours.
Time flies. For instance, look at me,
And at your aunt!
As you are now so once were we.
But now we can't
Dance all night long till break of day,
Nor, if we knew
How, at lawn-tennis could we play,
Young folks, like you.
Already on the turf you tread
The toadstool springs,
Which, when the summer's drought has fled,
Damp autumn brings.
The grass will soon have got too wet;
Too moist the mould.
Play whilst you can — don't play to get
Your death of cold.
Play whilst those limbs you yet can use,
Free play allow,
Which they will by-and-by refuse;
As mine do now.
Yet, on the sports of youth to gaze,
One still enjoys;
As you may too, in future days,
You, girls and boys.
