See  with Time's sad Burden bow,
Guilt in his Breast and Wrinkles on his Brow;
Yet points out  for his charming Bride,
And fain would tempt her to his frozen Side:
At Chapel where soft Grace and Virtue calls,
And pale Vice trembles at the sacred Walls;
Where Conscience warns the guilty Wretch to pray,
And beg a Blessing on his closing Day.
The Preacher reads: But  the while
Grins at his  with a ghastly Smile.
In their red Orbs his waiting Eye-balls roll,
And Charming  rushes on his Soul:
But Death will teach the silver-bearded Fool
Some other Lesson in his gloomy School.