My lusts they do me leave, My fancies all be fled, And tract of time begins to weave Grey hairs upon my head. — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
The wrinkles in my brow, The furrows in my face, Say, limping age will lodge him now Where youth must give him place. — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
My lusts they do me leave, My fancies all be fled, And tract of time begins to weave Grey hairs upon my head. — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
As ye of clay were cast by kind, So shall ye waste to dust. — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
For age with stealing steps Hath clawed me with his crutch — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
I loathe that I did love, In youth that I thought sweet — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
My hand and pen are not in plight, As they have been of yore. — Thomas Vaux, 2nd Baron Vaux of Harrowden Copy Share Image
