A HYMNE TO VENVS.
103
(According to the course of aged Men)
On his faire head; and honorable Beard;
His first gray hayres, to her light eyes apperd;
She left his bed; yet gaue him still, for food
The Gods Ambrosia; and attire as good.
Till, euen the hate of Age, came on so fast
That not a lyneament of his was grac't
With powre of Motion; nor did still sustaine
(Much lesse) the Vigor had, t'aduance a vaine;
The virtue lost, in each exhausted limm,
That, (at his wish) before would answer him;
All Powrs so quite decaid; that when he spake,
His voice, no perceptible accent brake:
Her counsaile, then, thought best; to striue no more;
But lay him in his bed, and lock his Dore.
Such an Immortall; would not I wish thee,
T'extend all daies so, to Eternitie.
But if, as now, thou couldst performe thy course
In Grace of Forme, and all corporeall force
To an eternall Date; Thou then should'st beare
My Husbands worthie Name; and not a Teare,
Should I neede raine, for thy deserts declinde,
From my All-clouded bitternesse of minde.
But now, the sterne storme of relentlesse Age
Will quickly circkle thee; that waites t'engage
All Men alike; euen Lothsomnesse, and Bane
Attending with it, euery humane wane:
Which euen the Gods bate. Such a Penance lies
On his faire head; and honorable Beard;
His first gray hayres, to her light eyes apperd;
She left his bed; yet gaue him still, for food
The Gods Ambrosia; and attire as good.
Till, euen the hate of Age, came on so fast
That not a lyneament of his was grac't
With powre of Motion; nor did still sustaine
(Much lesse) the Vigor had, t'aduance a vaine;
The virtue lost, in each exhausted limm,
That, (at his wish) before would answer him;
All Powrs so quite decaid; that when he spake,
His voice, no perceptible accent brake:
Her counsaile, then, thought best; to striue no more;
But lay him in his bed, and lock his Dore.
Such an Immortall; would not I wish thee,
T'extend all daies so, to Eternitie.
But if, as now, thou couldst performe thy course
In Grace of Forme, and all corporeall force
To an eternall Date; Thou then should'st beare
My Husbands worthie Name; and not a Teare,
Should I neede raine, for thy deserts declinde,
From my All-clouded bitternesse of minde.
But now, the sterne storme of relentlesse Age
Will quickly circkle thee; that waites t'engage
All Men alike; euen Lothsomnesse, and Bane
Attending with it, euery humane wane:
Which euen the Gods bate. Such a Penance lies
