AS the snow in vallies lying,
Phœbus his warm beams applying,
Soon dissolves and runs away;
So the beauties, so the graces,
Of the most bewitching faces,
At approaching age decay.
As a tyrant, when degraded,
Is despis’d, and is upbraided,
By the slaves he once control’d;
So the nymph, if none could move her,
Is contemn’d by every lover,
When her charms are growing old.
Melancholick looks and whining,
Grieving, quarrelling and pining,
Are th’ effects your rigours move;
Soft caresses, am’rous glances,
Melting sighs, transporting trances,
Are the blest effects of love.
Fair ones! while your beauty’s blooming,
Imploy time, left age resuming
What your youth profusely lends;
You are rob’d of all your glories,
And condemn’d to tell old stories,
To your unbelieving friends.