Mind and Body.SaysMind to Body t’other day,As on my chin I plied my razor,“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtrayYour real phiz, or cheat the gazer?“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,Has lost its roses, and your cheekIs falling into fearful hollows.“The crow’s fell foot has set its signBeside that eye, which dimly twinkles;And look! what means that ugly line?Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!“That form which ladies once could praiseWould now inspire them with a panic;Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.“At sight of that dismantled top,My very heart, I must confess, aches;Once famous as a Benter’s crop,You now are balder than Lord Essex.“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,Finding no beautifier near them;Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,Well may they call himEdax rerum.“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereftOf their two laughter loving dimples;And pretty substitutes they’ve left,(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!“The fashions which you used to lead,So careless are you or so thrifty,You most neglect when most you need;A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,Before you reckon more offences;Since you yourself may be the causeOf all these dismal consequences.“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;And when volcanos rage beneath,The surface must be torn and scatter’d.“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,Their tegument of clay outwearing,Done infinitely more than yearsTo cause the ravage you’re declaring?“If you yourself no symptom showOf age—no wrinkles of the spirit;If still for friends your heart can glow,Your purse be shared with starving merit;“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,No avarice in your heart has started;If you have not suspicious grown,Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;“You still are young! and o’er my face,(Howe’er its features may be shaded)Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,And keep the moral part unfaded.“Expression is the face’s soul,Of head and heart the emanation;Insensible to time’s control,Free from the Body’s devastation.“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;Voltaire was young at eighty-four,And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”
Mind and Body.SaysMind to Body t’other day,As on my chin I plied my razor,“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtrayYour real phiz, or cheat the gazer?“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,Has lost its roses, and your cheekIs falling into fearful hollows.“The crow’s fell foot has set its signBeside that eye, which dimly twinkles;And look! what means that ugly line?Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!“That form which ladies once could praiseWould now inspire them with a panic;Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.“At sight of that dismantled top,My very heart, I must confess, aches;Once famous as a Benter’s crop,You now are balder than Lord Essex.“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,Finding no beautifier near them;Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,Well may they call himEdax rerum.“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereftOf their two laughter loving dimples;And pretty substitutes they’ve left,(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!“The fashions which you used to lead,So careless are you or so thrifty,You most neglect when most you need;A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,Before you reckon more offences;Since you yourself may be the causeOf all these dismal consequences.“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;And when volcanos rage beneath,The surface must be torn and scatter’d.“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,Their tegument of clay outwearing,Done infinitely more than yearsTo cause the ravage you’re declaring?“If you yourself no symptom showOf age—no wrinkles of the spirit;If still for friends your heart can glow,Your purse be shared with starving merit;“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,No avarice in your heart has started;If you have not suspicious grown,Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;“You still are young! and o’er my face,(Howe’er its features may be shaded)Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,And keep the moral part unfaded.“Expression is the face’s soul,Of head and heart the emanation;Insensible to time’s control,Free from the Body’s devastation.“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;Voltaire was young at eighty-four,And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”
SaysMind to Body t’other day,As on my chin I plied my razor,“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtrayYour real phiz, or cheat the gazer?“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,Has lost its roses, and your cheekIs falling into fearful hollows.“The crow’s fell foot has set its signBeside that eye, which dimly twinkles;And look! what means that ugly line?Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!“That form which ladies once could praiseWould now inspire them with a panic;Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.“At sight of that dismantled top,My very heart, I must confess, aches;Once famous as a Benter’s crop,You now are balder than Lord Essex.“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,Finding no beautifier near them;Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,Well may they call himEdax rerum.“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereftOf their two laughter loving dimples;And pretty substitutes they’ve left,(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!“The fashions which you used to lead,So careless are you or so thrifty,You most neglect when most you need;A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,Before you reckon more offences;Since you yourself may be the causeOf all these dismal consequences.“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;And when volcanos rage beneath,The surface must be torn and scatter’d.“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,Their tegument of clay outwearing,Done infinitely more than yearsTo cause the ravage you’re declaring?“If you yourself no symptom showOf age—no wrinkles of the spirit;If still for friends your heart can glow,Your purse be shared with starving merit;“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,No avarice in your heart has started;If you have not suspicious grown,Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;“You still are young! and o’er my face,(Howe’er its features may be shaded)Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,And keep the moral part unfaded.“Expression is the face’s soul,Of head and heart the emanation;Insensible to time’s control,Free from the Body’s devastation.“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;Voltaire was young at eighty-four,And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”
SaysMind to Body t’other day,As on my chin I plied my razor,“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtrayYour real phiz, or cheat the gazer?“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,Has lost its roses, and your cheekIs falling into fearful hollows.“The crow’s fell foot has set its signBeside that eye, which dimly twinkles;And look! what means that ugly line?Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!“That form which ladies once could praiseWould now inspire them with a panic;Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.“At sight of that dismantled top,My very heart, I must confess, aches;Once famous as a Benter’s crop,You now are balder than Lord Essex.“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,Finding no beautifier near them;Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,Well may they call himEdax rerum.“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereftOf their two laughter loving dimples;And pretty substitutes they’ve left,(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!“The fashions which you used to lead,So careless are you or so thrifty,You most neglect when most you need;A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,Before you reckon more offences;Since you yourself may be the causeOf all these dismal consequences.“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;And when volcanos rage beneath,The surface must be torn and scatter’d.“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,Their tegument of clay outwearing,Done infinitely more than yearsTo cause the ravage you’re declaring?“If you yourself no symptom showOf age—no wrinkles of the spirit;If still for friends your heart can glow,Your purse be shared with starving merit;“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,No avarice in your heart has started;If you have not suspicious grown,Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;“You still are young! and o’er my face,(Howe’er its features may be shaded)Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,And keep the moral part unfaded.“Expression is the face’s soul,Of head and heart the emanation;Insensible to time’s control,Free from the Body’s devastation.“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;Voltaire was young at eighty-four,And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”
SaysMind to Body t’other day,As on my chin I plied my razor,“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtrayYour real phiz, or cheat the gazer?
SaysMind to Body t’other day,
As on my chin I plied my razor,
“Pray tell me, does that glass pourtray
Your real phiz, or cheat the gazer?
“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,Has lost its roses, and your cheekIs falling into fearful hollows.
“That youthful face, which bloom’d so sleek,
As Hebe’s, Ganymede’s, Apollo’s,
Has lost its roses, and your cheek
Is falling into fearful hollows.
“The crow’s fell foot has set its signBeside that eye, which dimly twinkles;And look! what means that ugly line?Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!
“The crow’s fell foot has set its sign
Beside that eye, which dimly twinkles;
And look! what means that ugly line?
Gadzooks, my friend, you’re getting wrinkles!
“That form which ladies once could praiseWould now inspire them with a panic;Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.
“That form which ladies once could praise
Would now inspire them with a panic;
Get Byron’s belt, or Worcester’s stays,
Or else you’ll soon be aldermanic.
“At sight of that dismantled top,My very heart, I must confess, aches;Once famous as a Benter’s crop,You now are balder than Lord Essex.
“At sight of that dismantled top,
My very heart, I must confess, aches;
Once famous as a Benter’s crop,
You now are balder than Lord Essex.
“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,Finding no beautifier near them;Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,Well may they call himEdax rerum.
“Since Waites’ decease, your teeth decline,
Finding no beautifier near them;
Time’s tooth has mumbled two of thine,
Well may they call himEdax rerum.
“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereftOf their two laughter loving dimples;And pretty substitutes they’ve left,(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!
“Behold, your cheeks are quite bereft
Of their two laughter loving dimples;
And pretty substitutes they’ve left,
(Between ourselves) a brace of pimples!
“The fashions which you used to lead,So careless are you or so thrifty,You most neglect when most you need;A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”
“The fashions which you used to lead,
So careless are you or so thrifty,
You most neglect when most you need;
A sad mistake, when nearly fifty.”
“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,Before you reckon more offences;Since you yourself may be the causeOf all these dismal consequences.
“Stop! stop!” says Body, “let us pause,
Before you reckon more offences;
Since you yourself may be the cause
Of all these dismal consequences.
“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;And when volcanos rage beneath,The surface must be torn and scatter’d.
“The sword, you know, wears out the sheath;
By steam are broken vessels scatter’d;
And when volcanos rage beneath,
The surface must be torn and scatter’d.
“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,Their tegument of clay outwearing,Done infinitely more than yearsTo cause the ravage you’re declaring?
“Have not your passions, hopes, and fears,
Their tegument of clay outwearing,
Done infinitely more than years
To cause the ravage you’re declaring?
“If you yourself no symptom showOf age—no wrinkles of the spirit;If still for friends your heart can glow,Your purse be shared with starving merit;
“If you yourself no symptom show
Of age—no wrinkles of the spirit;
If still for friends your heart can glow,
Your purse be shared with starving merit;
“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,No avarice in your heart has started;If you have not suspicious grown,Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;
“If yet, to sordid sins unknown,
No avarice in your heart has started;
If you have not suspicious grown,
Sour, garrulous, or narrow hearted;
“You still are young! and o’er my face,(Howe’er its features may be shaded)Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,And keep the moral part unfaded.
“You still are young! and o’er my face,
(Howe’er its features may be shaded)
Shall throw the sunshine of your grace,
And keep the moral part unfaded.
“Expression is the face’s soul,Of head and heart the emanation;Insensible to time’s control,Free from the Body’s devastation.
“Expression is the face’s soul,
Of head and heart the emanation;
Insensible to time’s control,
Free from the Body’s devastation.
“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;Voltaire was young at eighty-four,And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”
“If you’re still twenty, I’m no more:
Counting byyears, how folks have blunder’d;
Voltaire was young at eighty-four,
And Fontenelle, at near a hundred!”