Ninon De Lenclos, On Her Last Birthday

So let me have the rouge again

And comb my hair the curly way

The poor young men, the dear young men

They'll all be here by noon today



And I shall wear the blue, I think

They beg to touch its rippled lace

Or do they love me best in pink

So sweetly flattering the face?



And are you sure my eyes are bright

And is it true my cheek is clear?

Young what's-his-name stayed half the night

He vows to cut his throat, poor dear!



So bring my scarlet slippers, then

And fetch the powder-puff to me

The dear young men, the poor young men

They think I'm only seventy!