Calhovn's Miscellanie Vol 1 | Page 20

Lily

That opes and shuts as I do speak, do thus unto

Me say :

‘Thy white and hoarish airs, the messengers of age,

That shew, like lines of true belief, that this life

doth assuage ;

Bid thee lay hand, and feel them hanging on thy

chin ;

The which do write two ages past, the third now

coming in.

Hang up therefore the bit of thy young wanton time:

And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life

define. ’

Whereat I sigh’d, and said : ‘ Farewell ! my wonted

joy ;

Truss up thy pack , and trudge from me to every

little boy ;

And tell them thus from me ; their time most happy

is ,

If, to their time, they reason had, to know the truth

Of this.’

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