Much are we alter’d both, but I behold
In thee a youth renew’d—whilst I am old.
The works of man from dying we may save;
But man himself moves onward to the grave.
LINES, ADDRESSED TO THE DOWAGER DUCHESS OF RUTLAND.
When she—I will not tell her name—
Was in her early beauty laid,
Reposing—Time in person came.
And looked delighted at the maid.
Such charms, unmov’d, he could not pass,