Hear this, ye fair Ones, that survive your Charms,
Nor reach at Folly with your aged Arms;
Thus  has sung, thus let  sing;
"Virtue, brave Boys, — 'tis Virtue makes a King:"
Why not a Queen? fair Virtue is the same
In the rough Hero, and the smiling Dame:
Soul her Beauties shall pursue,
Tho' late I see her, and embrace her too:
Come, ye blest Graces, that are sure to please,
The Smile of Friendship, and the careless Ease;
The Breast of Candour, the relenting Ear,
The Hand of Bounty, and the Heart sincere:
May these the Twilight of my Days attend,
And may that Ev'ning never want a Friend
To smooth my Passage to the silent Gloom,
And give a Tear to grace the mournful Tomb.