To be mournfully silvering over with grey;
Who sees in her glass, with dejection and fear,
That Time’s with’ring hand bids her beauties decay:
Ne’er let her be fretful,
But drink and be cheerful,
The stream both her thirst and her grief shall assuage:
No more let her mourn,
For her bloom shall return,
She shall cast off the sad, sober liv’ry of age.
Oh Chester, &c.