To Doctor Bale - Poem by Barnabe Googe
Good aged Bale, that with thy hoary hairs
Dost yet persist to turn the painful book,
O happy man, that hast obtained such years,
And leav'st not yet on papers pale to look,
Give over now to beat thy wearied brain,
And rest thy pen that hath long labored sore;
For aged men unfit sure is such pain,
And thou beseems to labor now no more.
But thou, I think, Don Plato's part will play,
With book in hand to have thy dying day.
Comments about To Doctor Bale by Barnabe Googe
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You