ODE XV. BOOK III. TO A FADED BEAUTY. “Uxor pauperis Ibyci." DEAR Chloris, at an age like thine Might shock a taste not over nice, Give o'er thy light fantastic tricks, Forswear the company of beaux, Nor thus to ridicule expose The winter of thy charms. No beauty thou hast left to boast, Though twenty years a reigning toast, By coxcombs pledg'd aloud; Retreat in time, give others room, No nostrum can restore thy bloom; Haste, Chloris! nor defraud the tomb, Death courts thee for a shroud. What sprightly Phoebe, frank and free, Leave off thy pert affected prate, Should make thee play the fool. Ah! roll no more the leering eye Thy ogling days are past: And mark the moral of my strain, Must be dethron'd at last. THE TIMES; OR, THE PROPHECY. Nunquam libertas gratior exstat Quam sub Rege pio." FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1811. FOURTH EDITION. THE TIMES. BOLD is the man who, with satiric rage, Hail useful Satire! whose inspiring strain Shall lash the world, when parsons preach in vain! When justice sleeps, and sets the villain free, Expiring Virtue calls for aid to thee! Yet say what crimes, in this regen'rate age, What contemplative mind but now deplores Once favor'd Israel's desolated shores? |