The old Bride, OR The gilded Beauty.  
To a dainty new tune.  
 

NOr morning red  
nor blushing fair,  
Be through your glass  
or curtain spied;  
But cloudy grey,  
like the short hair  
Of year old everlasting  
Bride.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
In the nonage of time,  
Ere Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

Whose swarthy dry  
Westphalia lips,  
Are sunk to mumy  
in her skin,  
Whose gums are empty,  
and her lips  
Like eyelids hairy;  
and as thin:  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
In the nonage of time,  
Ere Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

For amorous sighs  
which Virgins use,  
She coughs aloud  
through lungs decayed,  
And with her palsy  
cannot choose  
But quake like trembling  
of a maid:  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

If that her Bridegroom  
be ill sped,  
he's not the first  
that hath been sad:  
For he's the last  
heir to her bed,  
Of seven before  
that she hath had.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
In the nonage of time  
E'er Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

Why should her husband  
then vex heaven,  
Or for a plenteous  
offspring beg?  
Since all the issue  
can be given,  
Is that which runneth  
in her leg.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
Ere-Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

Of losing her  
there is no doubt.  
Nor need you ask  
where she doth dwell:  
For you may easily  
scent her out,  
As hounds do find  
their game byth' smell.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

The second part, To the same tune.  
 

HEr nose and chin  
are now grown friends,  
& meet together  
lovingly:  
From danger these  
her mouth defends,  
So near they join  
in unity.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

Her painting serves  
her turn no more,  
Her face is like  
〈…〉 's wall  
That hath so oft  
been plastered over,  
With age at length  
it needs must fall.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam-were a beard  
she was in her prime.   

Her husband hath  
no cause to dread,  
(As many be  
through jealousy)  
That any will  
defile his bed,  
There's none will use  
such charity.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam wore a beard  
she was in her prime.   

What hath been spoken  
is not meant  
Any old woman  
to disgrace,  
But she who is  
to marriage bend,  
When deaths character's  
in her face.  
So old,  
So wondrous old,  
in the nonage of time  
E'er Adam word a beard  
she was in her prime.   
FINIS.    

Printed at London for Thomas Lambert, at the sign of the Hors-shoe in Smithfield.