Why don't the men propose, Mamma?

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

She wore a wreath of roses The first night that we met.

We met,—'twas in a crowd.

I've now got the music book ready, Do sit up and sing like a lady A recitative from Tancredi, And something about "Palpiti!" Sing forte when first you begin it, Piano the very next minute,

Gayly the troubadour Touched his guitar.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.