Sonnet 03

Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
   Of days departed. Time in his career
   Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
 Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
 Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
   Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
   Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
 'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
 Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
   Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
   The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
 That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
 Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.