Why must it be that all this has been writ?
Why must I fall the last one in the line?
I have no brains, or plays, or scores, or wit,
That have not found their place elsewhere in time.
There are so many things I could do right,
And yet, it's seeming to me more and more,
That any show of knowledge, skill, or might
That I may give, are rivaled all before.
Show me a thing that hasn't yet been done,
And there's something that I'll deem worthy of
Every day of all my life, and on.
For there's the thing to prove to you my love.