And with degraded vanity unfold,
How she too triumph’d in the years of old.
To her poor friends ’tis now her pride to tell,
On what a height she stood before she fell;
At church she points to one tall seat, and “There
We sat,” she cries, “when my papa was mayor.”
Not quite correct in what she now relates,
She alters persons, and she forges dates;
And finding memory’s weaker help decay’d,
She boldly calls invention to her aid.