Which we are fifty yeares in compassing.
35If transitory things, which soone decay,
Age must be lovelyest at the latest day.
But name not Winter-faces, whose skin's slacke;
Lanke, as an unthrifts purse; but a soules sacke;
Whose Eyes seeke light within, for all here's shade;
40Whose mouthes are holes, rather worne out, then made;
Whose every tooth to a severall place is gone,
To vexe their soules at Resurrection;
Name not these living Deaths-heads unto mee,