Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three, From boy to man, from man to boy, Would chop and change degree:

And musing thus, I think,

The case is very strange,

That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin,

How it doth show my dented thews,
The flesh was worn so thin;

And eke my toothless chaps,
The gates of my right way,

That opes and shuts as I do speak,
Do thus unto me say:

"The white and hoarish hairs,
The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,
That this life doth assuage;

"Bid thee lay hand, and feel

Them hanging on my 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 sighed, and said,

"Farewell my wonted joy!

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."

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That valleys, groves, and hills and fields,
Wood or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks