Beauty, Truth, and Incoherent Commentary - Verse 02

I've already begun insulting the memory of John Milton, so I may as well continue.  I'll copy here the few sonnets of his I understand, as Latin is a mystery to me.  (It may as well be Greek!)

On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-three    by John Milton

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,

That I to manhood am arrived so near,

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits indu'th.

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven.

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-master's eye.

Whining about being 24 years old?  Good Lord, man!  What until you're my age, and every body part hurts and malfunctions, you fart dust, your eyes, ears, nose, and tongue can't sense much of anything any more, and to walk up a flight of stairs requires all your energy!

Oh to be back in my 40's again!