Tell me, Dorinda, why so gay, 
 Why such embroid'ry, fringe, and lace? 
 Can any dresses find a way 
 To stop th'approaches of decay 
 And mend thy ruin'd face? 

 Wilt thou still sparkle in the box, 
 And ogle in the ring? 
 Canst thou forget thy age and pox? 
 Can all that shines on shells and rocks 
 Make thee a fine young thing?
 
 So have I seen in larder dark 
 Of veal a lucid loin, 
 Replete with many a heatless spark, 
 As wise philosophers remark, 
 At once both stink and shine.