To his Mistres objecting his Age.
Am I despis'd because you say
Am I despis'd because you say, and I believe, that I am gray? Know, Lady,
you have but your day, and night will come, when men will swear Time has spilt snow upon your
hair: Then when in your Glass you seek, but find no Rose-bud in your cheek; no, nor the bed to give the
shew, where such a rare Carnation grew; and such a smiling Tulip too. Ah, then, too late, close in your
Chamber keeping, it will be told, that you are old, by those true tears y'are weeping
