No more shall hapless Celia's ears br Be flattered with the cries br Of lovers drowned in floods of tears, br Or murdered by her eyes; br No serenades to break her rest, br Nor songs her slumbers to molest, br With my fa, la, la. br br The fragrant flowers that once would bloom br And flourish in her hair, br Since she no longer breathes perfume br Their odours to repair, br Must fade, alas! and wither now br As placed on any common brow, br With my fa, la, la. br br Her lip, so winning and so meek, br No longer has its charms; br As well she might by whistling seek br To lure us to her arms; br Affected once, 'tis real now, br As her forsaken gums may show, br With my fa, la, la. br br The down that on her chin so smooth br So lovely once appeared, br That, too, has left her with her youth, br Or sprouts into a beard; br As fields, so green when newly sown, br With stubble stiff are overgrown, br With my fa, la, la. br br Then, Celia, leave your apish tricks, br And change your girlish airs, br For ombre, snuff, and politics, br Those joys that suit your years; br No patches can lost youth recall, br Nor whitewash prop a tumbling wall, br With my fa, la, la.