So let me have the rouge again
And comb my hair the curly way
The poor young men, the dear young men
They'll all be here by noon today

And I shall wear the blue, I think
They beg to touch its rippled lace
Or do they love me best in pink
So sweetly flattering the face?

And are you sure my eyes are bright
And is it true my cheek is clear?
Young what's-his-name stayed half the night
He vows to cut his throat, poor dear!

So bring my scarlet slippers, then
And fetch the powder-puff to me
The dear young men, the poor young men
They think I'm only seventy!