Classic Poem

'Tis true, good sir, that now you're old
And love's hot spur in you is cold,
But you were young once and should be
Compassionate to frailty.

To err is human you should know,
Nor treat a tender maiden so,
Just for one slip it was not fair
To spoil the glory of her hair.

A father's part you think to play,
But she, poor girl, must rue the day.
She hoped in you a friend to find,
Yet now you seem more kin than kind.