I Remember the Time Ere His Temples Were Grey

I remember the time ere his temples were grey,
And I frown'd at the things he'd the boldness to say.
But now he's grown old he may say what he will,
I laugh at his nonsense and take nothing ill.
Indeed I must say he's a little improved,
For he watches no longer the slily beloved,
No longer as once he awakens my fears,
Not a glance he perceives, not a whisper he hears.
If he heard one of late, it has never transpired,
For his only delight is to see me admired;
And now pray what better return can I make
Than to flirt and be always admired . . for his sake.