Classic Poem

Let not old age disgrace my high desire,
O heauenly soule, in humaine shape conteind:
Old wood inflam'd doth yeeld the brauest fire,
When yonger doth in smoke his vertue spend.
Ne let white haires, which on my face do grow,
Seeme to your eyes of a disgracefull hue,
Since whitenesse doth present the sweetest show,
Which makes all eyes doe homage vnto you.
Old age is wise, and full of constant truth;
Old age well stayed from ranging humor liues;
Old age hath knowne what euer was in youth;
Old age orecome, the greater honour giues:
And to old age since you your selfe aspire,
Let not old age disgrace my high desire.