Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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"Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe was a good lance," said the friar. "I have heard there was none
better in Christendom. He lay in our convent after his wounds, and it was there we tended
him till he died. He was buried in our north cloister."
"And there's an end of him," said Athelstane. "But come, this is dismal talk. Where's
Wamba the Jester? Let us have a song. Stir up, Wamba, and don't lie like a dog in the fire!
Sing us a song, thou crack-brained jester, and leave off whimpering for bygones. Tush,
man! There be many good fellows left in this world."
"There be buzzards in eagles' nests," Wamba said, who was lying stretched before the fire,
sharing the hearth with the Thane's dogs. "There be dead men alive, and live men dead.
There be merry songs and dismal songs. Marry, and the merriest are the saddest sometimes.
I will leave off motley and wear black, gossip Athelstane. I will turn howler at funerals, and
then, perhaps, I shall be merry. Motley is fit for mutes, and black for fools. Give me some
drink, gossip, for my voice is as cracked as my brain."
"Drink and sing, thou beast, and cease prating," the Thane said.
And Wamba, touching his rebeck wildly, sat up in the chimney-side and curled his lean
shanks together and began:—
"LOVE AT TWO SCORE.
"Ho! pretty page, with dimpled chin,
That never has known the barber's shear,
All your aim is woman to win—
This is the way that boys begin—
Wait till you've come to forty year!
"Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,
Billing and cooing is all your cheer,
Sighing and singing of midnight strains
Under Bonnybells' window-panes.
Wait till you've come to forty year!
"Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,
Once you have come to forty year.