1. You tell me that sixty are but a few years
Between men and the withering of smooth skin

2. And a youth's freshness is no match
For the passion of one gray at the temples

3. So I said: what's gray hair but a cloak I wear?
It hasn't marred me with stinginess or largesse,

4. Loyalty or betrayal, pretense
Or boredom, or unkept vows

5. Truly, my honor, though white threads it bears
Is better than black treachery, you'd discover, if you but tried me.