Will you be pleased to take me as I am?
Quite out of countenance, with a downcast look,
Just like a truant that returns to book:
Yet I'm not old; but, if I were, this place
Ne'er wanted art to piece a ruined face.
When greybeards governed, I forsook the stage;
You know 'tis piteous work to act with age.
Though there's no sense among these beardless boys,
There's what we women love, that's mirth and noise.
These young beginners may grow up in time,