A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here, br Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year; br Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true br But yet those years that I have lived, but few. br Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell, br Lives not those years, but he that lives them well: br One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he br Of all those three-score has not lived half three: br He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast br Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.