To An Aged Cut-Up, II

Chloris lay off the flapper stuff; What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff, Is not for Ibycus's wife-- A woman at your time of life! Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz"; Your presence with the maidens jars-- You are the cloud that dims the stars. Your daughter Pholoë may stay Out nights on the Appian Way; her love for Nothus, as you know, Makes her as playful as a doe. No jazz for you, no jars of wine, No rose that blooms incarnadine. For one thing only you are fit: Buy some Lucerian wool--and knit!