To Queen Elizabeth

His golden locks Time hath to silver turn’d;
+++++++O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ’gainst time and age hath ever spurn’d,
+++++++But spurn’d 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, lovers’ sonnets turn’d to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
+++++++And feed on prayers, which are Age his 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 souls that think her any wrong.”
Goddess, allow this agèd man his right
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.

From Alciati’s Emblems.