To his mistress objecting his age

Am I dispis'd because you say,

and I believe, that I am gray?

know, Lady, you have but your day,

and night will come, when men will swear

Time has spilt snow upon your hair:

Then when in your glass you seek,

but find no rose-bud in your cheek,

no, nor the bed to give the shew,

where such a rare Carnation grew;

and such a smiling Tulip too.

Ah, then, too late, close in your chamber keeping,

it will be told, that you are old,

by those true tears y'are weeping.