The poem
How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages.
Stiff in brocard, and pinch'd in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face; And Phyllis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside, At night astronomers agree, The evening has the day belied; And Phyllis is some forty-three.