'Ah! faithless glass, my wonted bloom restore;
'Alas! I rave, that bloom is now no more.
'The greatest good the gods on men bestow,
'Ev'n youth itself to me is useless now.
'There was a time (oh! that I cou'd forget!)
'When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet;
'And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine,
'The earliest cherries of the spring were mine.
'Witness, O Lilly; and thou, Motteux, tell,
'How much japan these eyes have made ye sell.
'With what contempt ye saw me oft despise
'The humble offer of the raffled prize;
'For at the raffle still each prize I bore,
'With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore.
'Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more!