Stella this day is thirty-four, 
 (We shan't dispute a year or more:)
 However, Stella, be not troubled,
 Although thy size and years are doubled,
 Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
 The brightest virgin on the green;
 So little is thy form declin'd;
 Made up so largely in thy mind.

 Oh, would it please the gods to split
 Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit;
 No age could furnish out a pair
 Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;
 With half the lustre of your eyes,
 With half your wit, your years, and size.
 And then, before it grew too late,
 How should I beg of gentle Fate,
 (That either nymph might have her swain,)
 To split my worship too in twain.