IV.
Ask not, to-morrow what may chance,
Count it for gain whate’er betide:
Nor spurn, to peevish age denied,
Soft loves, my boy, nor yet the dance:
V.
Whilst hoary age, morose and sour,
Spares thy green spring, youth’s pastimes light
By day, soft whisperings by night,
Be thine, at the appointed hour,