For age with shame of youth’s fond deeds strooke blind,
Doth oft abhorre to beare the same in mind.
52.
Who doth to sloth his yonger daies ingage
For fond delight, he clips the wings of fame:
For sloth the canker-worme of honor’s badge,
Fame’s fethered wings doth fret, burying the name
Of vertue’s worth in dust of dunghill shame,
Whom action out of dust to light doth bring
And makes her mount to heauen with golden wing.