On himselfe.

YOung I was, but now am old,
But I am not yet grown cold;
I can play, and I can twine
Bout a Virgin like a Vine:
In her lap too I can lye
Melting, and in fancie die:
And return to life, if she
Claps my cheek, or kisseth me;
Thus, and thus it now appears
That our love out-lasts our yeeres.