The Veteran

TURN'D of Forty!—what then?—why 'twixt that and Threescore,
All the days of our lives let us live.
We only ask Health, not a moment hope more,
Than what Nature undoctor'd will give.

Non sum qualis eram, in Schoolmaster's Lore,
Is, our Cake we can't have when 'tis eat;—
Do not turn to past views, but new ground gallop o'er,
Nor pull up, for 'tis Time enough yet.

Ulysses at Forty Queen Circe embrac'd,
When older Calypso cou'd move.
Aetherials pronounc'd him a Man to their Taste,
He had Health, Understanding, and Love.

The Boys of this Time ne'er to Manhood arise,
As Shrubs cannot strengthen to Trees.
Affectation Ability's Vacuum supplies,
E'er of Age, they are old by Disease.

Insipid Emaciates each public place throng.—
As Trinkets on Watch-chains are worn,
By fine Women's sides, shewy, ratil'ing along,
The Fops are for fashion-sake born.

Those Mode-made-up Things, flutter lifehood away,
Abortions of what Britons were:
Perpetually talk, tho' they've nothing to say,
Their looks are but Vacancy's stare.

As nothing they think on, so nothing they do,
But only rise up, and lye down;
Inexpletive paths Dissipation pursue,
And hue and cry Life thro' the town.

In the pause of Embrace practis'd Beauties aver,
That Wit keeps Desire alive;
No wonder they sensible Forty prefer
To Folly and faint Twenty-five.

No Chronics my mascular bulworks invade,
Within, prima via is right:
Constitution I never a Bankrupt have made,
So can pay Beauty's Bill upon Sight.

It is true we are old,—old companions we've been:
Yet sound in our Heads, and our Hearts,
Let Wine, Wit, and Women, but open the Scene,
We still can go on with our parts.

While prompted by natural vigour to play,
We act thus, encore and encore.
The warning-bell rung, we've no business to stay,
Valete, the Farce faith is o'er.