The Poems of Henry Howard :: :: University of Virginia Library

Laid in my quyett bedd, in study as I weare,
I saw within my troubled hed a heape of thoughtes appeare;
And every thought did shew so lyvelye in myne eyes,
That now I sight, and then I smylde, as cawse of thought did ryse.
I saw the lytle boye, in thought how ofte that he
Did wishe of Godd to scape the rodd, a tall yong man to be;
The yong man, eke, that feeles his bones with paynes opprest,
How he wold be a riche olde man, to lyve and lye att rest;
The ryche olde man, that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he wolde be a boy agayne, to lyve so moche the more.
Wheare at, full ofte I smylde, to see how all theise three,
From boy to man, from man to boy, wold chopp and chaunge degree;
And musinge thus, I thincke the case is very straunge,
That man from wealth, to lyve in woe, doth ever seeke to chaunge.
Thus thoughtfull as I laye, I saw my witheryd skynne
How it doth shew my dynted jawes, the flesshe was worne so thynne,
And eke my tothelesse chapps, the gates of my right way,
That opes and shuttes as I do speake, do thus unto me say:
“Thie whyte and horishe heares, the messengers of age,

That shew lyke lynes of true belief that this lif doth asswage,
Bides the lay hand, and feele them hanging on thie chyn,
The whiche do wryte twoe ages past, the thurd now cumming in.
Hang upp, therfore, the bitt of thie yonge wanton tyme,
And thow that theare in beaten art, the happyest lif defyne.”
Wheare at I sight, and said, “Farewell! my wonted joye;
Trusse upp thie pack, and trudge from me to every lytle boye,
And tell them thus from me, theire tyme moste happie is,
Yf, to their tyme, they reason had to know the truthe of this.”