"What, know you not, old man (quoth he)— Your hair is white, your face is wise— That Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes Who hopes to see fair Arcady? No gold can buy you entrance there; But beggared Love may go all bare— No wisdom won with weariness; But love goes in with Folly's dress— No fame that wit could ever win; But only Love may lead Love in. To Arcady, to Arcady."