‘I still coeval praise may claim,
‘Nor was I born to meet disdain!
‘Know that we both, tho’ now so gay,
‘Shall soon be lost, and fade away;
‘And if for beauty’s meed you vie,
‘What boots it? since next eve you die!
‘The Rose is lovely to behold.
‘The Cowslip too, which boasts of gold,
‘The Tulip and the Lilly fair,
‘All yield their fragrance to the air;