XXXVIII.
Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear!
Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn!
Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear!
Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn)
Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night;
And yield more cause of terror, than delight!
XXXIX.
Lo here, the Record of my follies past,