Leave off, good Beroe, now
To sleek thy shivelled skin,
For Hecube's face will never be
As Helen's hue hath been.

Let beauty go with youth
Renounce the glozing glass,
Take Book in hand: that seemly rose
Is woxen withered grass.

Remove thy peacock's plumes,
Thou crank and curious dame;
To other trulls of tender years
Resign the flag of fame.