What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.

What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day, To drooping Age, who crost his way, "It is a sunny hour of play, For which repentance dear doth pay, Repentance! Repentance! And this is Love, as wise men say

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.

Age appears to be best in four things, - old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read