Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying. |
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting
The sooner will his race be run
And nearer he's to setting. |
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times, still succeed the former. |
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For saving lost but once your prime,
You may for every tarry. |
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