And evermore I do thinke inwardly,
That my dedes of you they were of great foly,
And thou thy selfe right joyous may be
To lyve so longe to be lyke to me.
Happy is they that may well overpasse
The narrow bridge over fragilite
Of his wanton youth, brytle as the glasse;
For the youth is open to all fraylte,
Redy to fall to great iniquite;
Full well is he that is brydeled fast