Saturday Rave: The Love-Sick Boy by W S Gilbert.

It may not be very poetic, nor very burnishing to the self-importance, but the fact remains that most love-affairs turn out to be comedies rather than tragedies.

Well, they do if we would only let them.

When first my old, old love I knew,
My bosom welled with joy;
My riches at her feet I threw -
I was a love-sick boy!
No terms seemed too extravagant
Upon her to employ -
I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,
Just like a love-sick boy!
Tink-a-tank! Tink-a-tank!

But joy incessant palls the sense;
And love, unchanged, will cloy,
And she became a bore intense
Unto her love-sick boy!
With fitful glimmer burnt my flame,
And I grew cold and coy,
At last, one morning, I became
Another's love-sick boy.
Tink-a-tank! Tink-a-tank!

**

Tink-a-tank indeed.

Well, probably. (Sorry, no idea at all.)

Word To Use Today: bosom. English-speakers have had bosoms since Old English times. The word then was bōsm. 

This song is sung during Gilbert and Sullivan's Trial by Jury.

The trial is, of course, one for breach of promise.