VII.
Now this human fossil, Sir Thomas Brown,
Considered by some a fool, or a clown,
By others—’mong whom, his children we name—
As “non compos mentis,” being the same
As out of his head, or out of his mind,
No matter which, for in love we are blind,
Having met Mrs. Ruth as stated before,
He began at once to love and adore.
“Just the thing,” quoth he, “for one of my age.
Though friends may laugh and children may rage,
I’ll offer my wealth, my heart and my name.
If she but accepts, a nice little game
We’ll play upon all; in secret we’ll wed,
Regardless of others—no matter what’s said.”
Strange things have happened, stranger to relate,
How she, this buxom widow, as by fate,
Selected this old man to be her mate.
If Cupid does go with bows and arrows,
If Venus does keep her coach and sparrows
As some poets say, while others quibble.—
Surely! these things help to explain the riddle.
Not he who cannot love, but he who can,
Shows the kind heart, and proves himself a man.