XXXIV.
How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire,
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine;
As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire;
And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine,
Who of itself continues constant still;
And doth us good, ofttimes against our will.
XXXV.
In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe,
Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way.