"Oh, vanity of age untoward!
Ever spleeny, ever froward!
Why these bolts and massy chains,
Squint suspicions, jealous pains?
Why, thy toilsome journey o'er,
Lay'st thou up an useless store?
Hope along with Time is flown;
Nor canst thou reap the field thou'st sown.
Had'st thou a son? In time be wise;
He views thy toil with other eyes.