 | Argalvs and Parthenia |  |
It was no sooner ended, but appeares
An old gray pilgrime, deeply strucke in yeares,
In tatterd garments; In his wrinkled hand
An houreglasse, labouring with her latest sand.
Beneath his arme, a buffen knapsacke hung,
Stuft full of writings, in an vnknowne tongue;
Chronologies, outdated Almanacks,
And Patents, that had long suruiu'd their waxe.
Vnto his shoulders, Eagles wings were ioyn'd;
His head ill thatch'd before, but bal'd behind:
And leaning on his crooked Sythe he made
A little pause, and after that, he said,
An old gray pilgrime, deeply strucke in yeares,
In tatterd garments; In his wrinkled hand
An houreglasse, labouring with her latest sand.
Beneath his arme, a buffen knapsacke hung,
Stuft full of writings, in an vnknowne tongue;
Chronologies, outdated Almanacks,
And Patents, that had long suruiu'd their waxe.
125
His head ill thatch'd before, but bal'd behind:
And leaning on his crooked Sythe he made
A little pause, and after that, he said,
| Argalvs and Parthenia | |