Old Age Is But A Second Childhood.

Ye Children Of Man! Whose Life Is A Span, Protracted With Sorrow From Day To Day, Naked And Featherless, Feeble And Querulous, Sickly, Calamitous Creatures Of Clay!

Old Age Is But A Second Childhood.

I Would Treat Her Like An Egg, The Shell Of Which We Remove Before Eating It; I Would Take Off Her Mask And Then Kiss Her Pretty Face.

What Unlooked-for Things Do Happen, To Be Sure, In A Long Life!

Tis Not For Us To Warn A Wilful Sinner; We Stay Him Not, But Let Him Run His Course, Till By Misfortunes Rous'd, His Conscience Wakes, And Prompts Him To Appease Th' Offended Gods.