Classic Poem

I.

Silly Nymph , no more Airs I desire,
Nor think with that Face to trepan:
Time has rifled your Eyes of their Fire:
You must hope never more for a Man .

II.

Yet, as Age hurries on, you grow proud,
Gay, airy, coquetish, and smart,
Still ogling, and talking aloud,
And wou'd fain make a Slave of my Heart .