Classic Poem

I am called Chyldhood, in play is all my mynde,
To cast a coyte, a cokstele, and a ball.
A toppe can I set, and dryve it in his kynde.
But would to god these hatefull bookes all,
Were in a fyre brent to pouder small.
Than myght I lede my lyfe alwayes in play:
Whiche lyfe god sende me to myne endyng day.

In the second pageaunt was paynted a goodly freshe yonge
man, rydying uppon a goodly horse, havynge an hawke on his
fyste, and a brase of grayhowndes folowyng hym. And
under the horse fete, was paynted the same boy, that in the
fyrst pageaunte was playing at the top & squyrge. And over this
second pageant the wrytyng was thus.