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TEMPORA MUTANTUR.
151
Time was when I waited, waited,
For the missives that she wrote.
Humble postmen execrated—
Loudly, deeply execrated—
When I heard I wasn't fated
To be gladdened with a note.
Time was when I'd not have bartered
Of her little pen a dip
For a peerage duly gartered—
For a peerage starred and gartered—
With a palace-office chartered—
Or a Secretaryship!
But the time for that is over,
And I wish we'd never met.
I'm afraid I've proved a rover—
I'm afraid a heartless rover—
Quarters in a place like Dover
Tend to make a man forget.
Now I can accord precedence
To my tailor, for I do
Want to know if he gives credence—
An unwarrantable credence—
To my proffered I O U!
