December XXXI.
143
He stole the florins out of my purse,
The sunshine out of mine eyes;
He stole my roses, and, what is worse,
The gray old Gaffer told lies.
The sunshine out of mine eyes;
He stole my roses, and, what is worse,
The gray old Gaffer told lies.
He promised fair when he came by,
And laughed as he slipped away,
For every promise turned out a lie;
But his tale is over to-day.
And laughed as he slipped away,
For every promise turned out a lie;
But his tale is over to-day.
Good-by, old Gaffer! you'll come no more,
You've done your worst for me.
The next gray robber will pass my door,
There's nothing to steal or see!
You've done your worst for me.
The next gray robber will pass my door,
There's nothing to steal or see!
