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Oft am I by the women told,
  Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old!
  Look how thy hairs are falling all;
  Poor Anacreon, how they fall!
  Whether I grow old or no,
  By th' effects I do not know;
  This I know, without being told,
  'Tis time to live, if I grow old;
  'Tis time short pleasures now to take,
  Of little life the best to make,
  And manage wisely the last stake.

© Anacreon