Primary tabs


Beauty and Time.

TIME met Beauty one day in her garden,
Where roses were blooming fair;
Time and Beauty were never good friends,
So she wondered what brought him there.
Poor Beauty exclaim'd, with a sorrowful air,
"I request, Father Time, my sweet roses you'll spare,"
For Time was going to mow them all down,
While Beauty exclaim'd — with her prettiest frown,
"Fie, Father Time."

"Well," said Time, "at least let me gather
A few of your roses here,
'Tis part of my pride to be always supplied
With such roses the whole of the year."
Poor Beauty consented, the half in despair;
And Time, as he went, ask'd a lock of her hair;
And he stole the soft ringlet so bright,
He vow'd 't was for love — but she knew't was for spite.
Oh fie, Father Time

Time went on and left Beauty in tears;
He's a tell tale the world well knows: —
So he boasted to all of the fair lady's fall,
And show'd the lost ringlet and rose.
So shock'd was poor Beauty to find that her fame
Was ruin'd — tho' she was in nowise to blame.
That she droop'd, like some flow'r, that is torn from its climb
And her friends all mysteriously said — "It was Time."
Oh fie, Father Time