Lo, though fourscore and four winters have passed over him, Sir Tom Jones yet raiseth his voice with power undiminished. In the land of California, within the hall men call the YouTube Theater, he came forth leaning upon a staff, and for much of the night he sang seated. Yet the multitude, hearing, were moved to cheer, for the fire within his song burned as bright as in his youth.

Great weariness dwelleth in his hips, the fruit of long years and the toil of many journeys. Once was his left side mended by the hand of a surgeon; now his right troubleth him sorely. Physicians counseled him to rest and to cut flesh anew, but Sir Tom spake, “Nay, I have a show to do.” Thus he bore his pain with courage, keeping beside him a stool that he might sit when the hurt grew heavy. “For the first songs I stand strong,” quoth he, “then I sit, and lo, the people love me still.”
Through Santa Barbara, Las Vegas, and San Francisco he maketh his way, and the halls are filled with faithful souls who yet thirst for his song. Earlier in the year, a malady of the throat beset him, and one gathering in Budapest was delayed. Yet false whispers that he had fallen were cast aside, for Sir Tom rose again and sang when the hour was right.
Thus it is told: though age and affliction strive to hinder him, Sir Tom yieldeth not. For the stage is his kingdom, and his voice, even seated, remaineth a crown of glory.