You give your cheks a rosy stain, With washes dye your hair; But paint and washes both are vain To give a youthful air. Those wrinkles mock your daily toil, No labor will efface `em, You wear a mask of smoothest oil, Yet still with ease we trace `em. An art so fruitless then forsake, Which though you much excel in, You never can contrive to make Old Hecuba young Helen.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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