Chapter XX

Poor human life! how short the date
Assign'd thee by relentless Fate!----
Poor transient Beauty! tender flower!
Still shorter thy allotted hour!----
Then stretch the canvass---quick, my Friend,
Thy pencil seize---thy work attend---
E'en exempt from deforming diseases,
How it fades by the torches of Time;
Every moment that flows
Steals the gloss from the rose; 200
Then catch the bright hue while it pleases,
And fix the fair face in it's prime.