'Tis sad, sad news I heard to-day—
Dan Cupid's fled the town;
His bank has closed, and in the fray
Of failure has gone down.

For years poor Danny's kept the place,
And honored every bill
From men of every creed and race
Presented at his till.

But now the bank has closed its doors—
A scene of misery;
And Cupid's skipped to other shores
In hopeless bankruptcy.

He had a vast reserve of love
Hid safely in his vault;
There never was suggestion of
A possible default.

He owned a mine of richest ore—
True eighteen carat stuff—
And none who ever glimpsed the store
Could doubt he had enough.

But I, alas, yes, it was I
Who wrecked our banker fair;
It is a fact I can't deny—
I wrought that ruin there.

For when I first glimpsed Polly's eyes,
And fell beneath their sway,
I drew a draft of such a size
He simply couldn't pay!