And when obdurate time besprinkles
Your head with grey, your face with wrinkles,
When sickness and when age shall come
And wither transient beauty’s bloom,
Still shall the beauties of your mind,
By reading and by time refin’d,
Still shall thy wit and polish’d ease
In spite of fickle nature please;
And then th’ enchanted world shall see
Rochefoucauld’s laws belied in thee,