Classic Poem

Scrape no more your harmless Chins,
Old Beaux, in hope to please;
You shou'd repent your former Sins,
Not study their Increase;
Young awkard Fops, may shock our Sight,
But you offend by Day and Night.

In vain the Coachman turns about,
And whips the dappl'd Greys;
When the old Ogler looks out,
We turn away our Face.
True Love and Youth will ever charm,
But both affected, cannot warm.

Summer-fruits we highly prise,
They kindly cool the Blood;
But Winter berries we despise,
And leave 'em in the Wood;
On the Bush they may look well,
But gather'd, lose both taste and smell.

That you languish, that you dye,
Alas, is but too true;
Yet tax not us with Cruelty,
Who daily pity you.
Nature henceforth alone accuse,
In vain we grant, if she refuse.