The Contempt of Old Age

'TIS a short time our precious Youth will stay:
Like some delightful Dream it steals away;
And then comes on us, creeping in its stead,
Benumming Old Age, with its hoary Head;

Which Beauty spoils, our Nerves with Crampings binds,
It clouds our Eyesight, and disturbs our Minds.
When Iove to Tithon endless Old Age gave,
'Twas sure of greater Terrour than the Grave.

Some have in Youth been for their Beauty pris'd,
Which when deform'd by Age, become despis'd;
Then peevish grown, and vex'd at Childrens Slight,
Take not abroad, nor at their Homes delight.

Bed-rid, and scorn'd, with Pains, and Rheums, they lye:
The Gods on Age throw all this Misery.