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There might, indeed, be found beneath your roof Those who might reckon years fourscore and odds, But of old folks, I warrant, ne'er a soul. No; we were all young then.

'Tis true indeed, It was even as thou say'st. Our earthly joys Fly like the blossoms scattered by the wind.

Please you, my lord; Some score of vassals in the hall attend To bid good morrow to you, and the hour Wears late: the chamberlain hath bid me say He will dismiss them, if it please your honour.

Nay, many a mile have some of them, I know, With suit or purpose lurking in their minds, Rode o'er rough paths to see me; disappointed Shall none of them return.—I'm better now. I have been rather weary than unwell. Say, I will see them presently.(Exit Servant.)