His golden locks time hath to silver turn'd; <br />O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! <br />His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd, <br />But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing: <br />Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; <br />Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. <br /> <br />His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; <br />And lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms, <br />A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, <br />And feed on prayers, which are age his alms: <br />But though from court to cottage he depart, <br />His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. <br /> <br />And when he saddest sits in homely cell, <br />He'll teach his swains this carol for a song: <br />"Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, <br />Curst be the souls that think her any wrong." <br />Goddess, allow this aged man his right, <br />To be your beadsman now that was your knight.<br /><br />George Peele<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/polyhymnia-sonnet/
