But hear, my Sisters — Hear an ancient Maid,
Too long by Folly, and her Arts betray'd;
From these light Trifles turn your partial Eyes,
'Tis sad  prays you to be wise;
And thou  thou must shortly feel
The sad Effect of Time's revolving Wheel;
Thy Spring is past, thy Summer Sun declin'd,
See Autumn next, and Winter stalks behind:
But let not Reason with thy Beauties fly,
Nor place thy Merit in a brilliant Eye;
'Tis thine to charm us by sublimer ways,
And make thy Temper, like thy Features, please:
And thou,  trudge to Morning Pray'r,
Nor trim thy Eye-brows with so nice a Care;
Dear Nymph believe — 'tis true, as you're alive,
Those Temples show the Marks of Fifty-five.
Let  unload her aking Head
Of twisted Papers, and of binding Lead;
Let sage  now, without a Frown,
Strip those gay Ribbands from her aged Crown;
Change the lac'd Slipper of delicious Hue
For a warm Stocking, and an easy Shoe;
Guard her swell'd Ancles from Rheumatick Pain,
And from her Cheek expunge the guilty Stain.