Classic Poem

Audivere, Lyce, Hor. Lib. 4. Ode 13

At length mother Gunter the Gods hear my pray'r,
They've heard me at length mother Gunter;
You're grown an old woman, yet romp, drink and swear,
And ape all the tricks of a bunter.

You invoke with a voice that tremblingly squeaks
Brisk Cupid, tho' sure of denial;
He shuns you, and basks in the blossomy cheeks
Of Miss Gubbins, that plays on the viol.

He flies by the trunk that is sapless and bare
To the pliant young branches he comes up;
Age has hail'd on thy face, and has snow'd on thy hair,
And thy green teeth have eat all thy gums up.

Nor thy sack, nor thy necklace, thy watch, nor thy ring,
Have restor'd thee to youth, or retarded
Those years which old Time, and his friend Vincent Wing,
In the almanack long hath recorded.

Oh! where are those beauties, that bloom, and that grace,
Those lips that could breath inspiration;
That stole me away from my self, and gave place
To none other but Nan in the nation?

But poor Nan is dead, and has left you her years
As a legacy, which the good heavens
Have join'd to your own, and a century clears,
And is just, Mam, the age of your ravens.

Then remains a memento for each jolly soul,
Who of Venus's club's a staunch member;
That love, hot as fire, must be burnt to a coal,
As the broomstick concludes in an ember.