She says shes very sorry, as she sees you to the gate;
You calmly say Good-bye to her while standing off a yard,
Then you lift your hat and leave her, walking mighty stiff and straight
But youre hit, old manhit hard.
In your brain the words are burning of the answer that she gave,
As you turn the nearest corner and you stagger just a bit;
But you pull yourself together, for a mans strong heart is brave
When its hit, old manhard hit.
You might try to drown the sorrow, but the drink has no effect;
You cannot stand the barmaid with her coarse and vulgar wit;
And so you seek the street again, and start for home direct,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.
You see the face of her you lost, the pity in her smile
Ah! she is to the barmaid as is snow to chimney grit;
Youre a better man and nobler in your sorrow, for a while,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.
And, arriving at your lodgings, with a face of deepest gloom,
You shun the other boarders and your manly brow you knit;
You take a light and go upstairs directly to your room
But the whole house knows youre hit.
You clutch the scarf and collar, and you tear them from your throat,
You rip your waistcoat open like a fellow in a fit;
And you fling them in a corner with the made-to-order coat,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.
You throw yourself, despairing, on your narrow little bed,
Or pace the room till someone starts with Skit! cat!skit!
And then lie blindly staring at the plaster overhead
You are hit, old manhard hit.
Its doubtful whether vanity or love has suffered worst,
So neatly in our nature are those feelings interknit,
Your heart keeps swelling up so bad, you wish that it would burst,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.
You think and think, and think, and think, till you go mad almost;
Across your sight the spectres of the bygone seem to flit;
The very girl herself seems dead, and comes back as a ghost,
When youre hit, like thishard hit.
You know that its all overyoure an older man by years,
In the future not a twinkle, in your black sky not a split.
Ah! youll think it well that women have the privilege of tears,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.
You long and hope for nothing but the rest that sleep can bring,
And you find that in the morning things have brightened up a bit;
But youre dull for many evenings, with a cracked heart in a sling,
When youre hit, old manhard hit.