His golden locks Time hath to silver turned
O Time too swift! Oh swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing
Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots and ever green

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees
And lover's sonnets turn to holy psalms
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees
And feed on prayers which are Age's alms
But though from Court to cottage he depart
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart

And when he saddest sits in homely cell
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song:
Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well
Curst be the soul that think her any wrong
Goddess, allow this aged man his right
To be your bedesman now that was your knight