Has lost its roses, and your cheek
Is falling into fearful hollows.
“The crow’s fell foot has set its sign
Beside that eye, which dimly twinkles;
And look! what means that ugly line?
Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!
“That form which ladies once could praise
Would now inspire them with a panic;
Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,
Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.