Stella This Day Is Thirty-Four, (We Shan'T Dispute A Year Or More:) However, Stella, Be Not Troubled, Although Thy Size And Years Are Doubled Since First I Saw Thee At Sixteen, The Brightest Virgin On The Green; So Little Is Thy Form Declined; Made Up So Largely In Thy Mind. O, Would It Please The Gods To Split Thy Beauty, Size, And Years, And Wit! No Age Could Furnish Out A Pair Of Nymphs So Graceful, Wise, And Fair; With Half The Lustre Of Your Eyes, With Half Your Wit, Your Years, And Size. And Then, Before It Grew Too Late, How Should I Beg Of Gentle Fate, (That Either Nymph Might Have Her Swain,) To Split My Worship Too In Twain.