The bitter pang had felt.
But age comes on, they say, apace,
To warn us of our death,
And wrinkles mar the fairest face,—
At last it stops our breath.
One of these dames tormented sore
With that curst pang, toothache,
Was at a loss for such a bore
What remedy to take.
"I've heard," thought she, "this ill to cure,