That his frayle thighes nigh wearie and fordonne
Gan faile, but by her helpe the top at last he wonne.
There they do finde that godly aged Sire, xlviii
With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed,
As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire
The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded.
Each bone might through his body well be red,
And euery sinew seene through his long fast:
For nought he car’d his carcas long vnfed;
His mind was full of spirituall repast,