For when our climbing's done, our words aspire;
Still in our ashes old is reeking fire. {50}

"Four hot coals have we, which I will express:
Boasting, lying, anger, and covetousness.
These burning coals are common unto age,
Our old limbs well may stumble o'er the stage,
But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.
Still in my head was always a colt's tooth,
As many a year as now is passed and done,
Since that my tap of life began to run.
For certainly when I was born, I trow,
Death drew the tap of life, and let it flow;
And ever since the tap so fast hath run,
That well-nigh empty now is all the tun.
The stream of life but drips from time to time;
The silly tongue may well ring out and chime
Of wretchedness, that passed is of yore:
With aged folk, save dotage, there's nought more."

When that our Host had heard this sermoning,
He gan to speak as lordly as a king;
And said, "Why, what amounteth all this wit?
What! shall we speak all day of Holy Writ?
The devil can make a steward fit to preach,
Or of a cobbler a sailor, or a leech.
Say forth thy tale; and tarry not the time.
Lo Deptford! and the hour is half-way prime:
Lo Greenwich! there where many a shrew loves sin -
It were high time thy story to begin."