There Was A Star Danced, And Under

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

I'll Be At Charges For A Looking-glass And Entertain A Score Or Two Of Tailors To Study Fashions To Adorn My Body: Since I Am Crept In Favor With Myself, I Will Maintain It With Some Little Cost.

Slanders, Sir, For The Satirical Rogue Says Here That Old Men Have Grey Beards, That Their Faces Are Wrinkled, Their Eyes Purging Think Amber And Plum-tree Gum, And That They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit, Together With Most Weak Hams.

Twas A Clever Quibble. Here, A Garment For It.

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.