Of the vanitie of youth.

WHen I wanton beardlesse boye,
became first Venus thrall,
My cheeks were smoth, my browes full plain,
and rounde as tennis ball:
My face well filde with liuely blood,
as youth did paint me out,
With curled heare mutche like the grasse,
that in the Spryng doeth sprout.
With Spathauks eyes in forhed set, bothe graye and gredie eke,
And euery member furnisht well, there was no thyng to seke:
With harte as merry as the birde, that syngs on eury spraie,
With body cled in diuers hewes, as freshe as flowre in Maie.
But all these beuties tooke their leaue, from me a long tyme sence,
And in their place is come a geaste, I can not tell from whence:
But lodge he doeth within my bones, thei call hym Age I trowe,
A droupyng snogg that on his backe, hath fardells full of woe.
Who nill I will I must I beare, and yet it lames me mutche,
My shulders maie my fingers curse, when thei the packe did toutche:
With sloupyng doune to take it vp, my youth I haue let fall,
And after youth went my delits, and body pleasures all.
For furred garments now I call, that did in Girkin Iette,
And fire must kepe me from the Frost, or els no warmth I gette:
The blood forsakes the outward parts, and palenesse there remains,
With feuers cold and crampyng stitche, are shronken vp my vaines.
The skinne lyes flat on eury ioynt, vnsemely to your sight,
And I vnfit for Venus sprots, by daie or candell light:
With eye delits I feede my luste, and couetyng desire,
But when I should maintaine the flame, I giue but smoke for fier.
My hollowe lookes maks some to laugh, ye hears my youthfull tong,
When that for age and aking limmes, my knell might well be rong:
I call my reatchlesse yeres to count, whose recknyng fears my witts
For he that maie controll the same, within my conscience sitts.
And saieth my dallyng daies are doen, as grauer yeres encreace,
So should I leaue my former vice, and all my follie seace:
Whereat I waie my short tyme here, my leude life long abusde,
And to the glas I stept to see, how youth hath me refusde.
As Peacocke then letts fall his taile, that his black feete hath seen,
So cast I doune my painted sheath, that once was gaie and green.
And welcome saie I siluer heares, your hoary colour white,
Hath ouercome my youthfull yeres, and quenched my delite.