תמונות בעמוד
PDF

My muse doth not delight

Me as she did before,
My hand and pen are not in plight,

As they have ben of yore.

[ocr errors]

The wrinkles in my brow,

The furrowes in my face
Say, limping age will lodge him now,

Where youth must geve him place.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

Me thinkes I heare the clarke,

That knowles the careful knell, And bids me leave my woful warke,

Ere nature me compell,

My keepers knit the knot,

That youth did laugh to skorne, Of me that clene shal be forgot,

As I had not been borne.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

For beauty with her band,

These croked cares hath wrought, And shipped me into the lande,

From whence I firft was brought.

[ocr errors]
[merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors][ocr errors]

He was the flower of noble wights,

None ever more sincere colde bee; . Of comelye mien and shape he was,

And tenderlye hee loved mee.

[ocr errors]
« הקודםהמשך »