To a Gentlewoman Objecting to Him His Gray Hairs

Am I despised because you say,And I dare swear, that I am gray?Know, lady, you have but your day:And time will come when you shall wearSuch frost and snow upon your hair;

And when (though long, it comes to pass)You question with your looking-glass;And in that sincere crystal seek,But find no rose-bud in your cheek:Nor any bed to give the showWhere such a rare carnation grew.Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping,It will be toldThat you are old,By those true tears y'are weeping.