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PASSION. XXXVIII. (Book 38)
BOwes not my body with the force of age,
Ys not the skyn far wyder then my face,
And flesh consum'd by force of wrathfull age,
What doe not siluer hayres yeilde goodly grace:
And be not these the kalendars of time,
Which witnes that in cares I spend my prime.
Were none of these my blood still waxeth could,
And I doe feele a weakenes in my minde,
Feare dispos•…•…est my wonted courage bould.
Dimnes of thought doth make my senses blinde:
Benomn'd I am in euerie part at length,
That cleane I lost the force of former strength.
These tokens shew my paine not long shall last,
Nor I (thoughe steele) be able to endure,
These torments, which encrease the surging blast,
Then let me not my greater harmes procure:
By fearing paine more then the force of paine,
Which feeble strength could not in me refraine.
Should I suppose I could exceede the dayes,
Which are layde downe to finish all my cares,
And doth encrease the cause which hope delayes,
Then let me yeilde, to him that still prepares:
A salue, to such as call to him for ayde,
And to abide the brunt are neu'r dismayde: