Chandos

You are a man, my prince, and a brave man, If I can judge of actions; but your heat Is the effect of youth, and want of use: Use makes the armed field and noisy war Pass over as a summer cloud, unregarded, Or but expected as a thing of course. Age is contemplative; each rolling year Brings forth fruit to the mind’s treasure-house:— While vacant youth doth crave and seek about Within itself, and findeth discontent, Then, tired of thought, impatient takes the wing, Seizes the fruits of time, attacks experience, Roams round vast Nature’s forest, where no bounds Are set, the swiftest may have room, the strongest Find prey; till, tired at length, sated and tired With the changing sameness, old variety, We sit us down, and view our former joys With distaste and dislike.