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Drink about, for night doth go,
By daylight grey hairs will show;
Now from silver lamps doth fall
Golden light on gilded wall;
Seize this hour while you may;
Let it pass—there cometh day
When all things will turn to grey.
163

Let me think about my love
Softer than pink-footed dove;
Nobly-born, and meek, and wise

A picture (small)


As the guard of Paradise.
She would be a King's despair
From her golden-gleaming hair
To her silver feet so fair.
Who shall pray to Proserpine
For her? Juno, for her line?
Pallas, for that she is wise
As the guard of Paradise?
Venus, she that maketh fair,
For her golden-gleaming hair?
Or Diana, the full fleet,
For her sweet and silver feet?
Ah! these even, should they care
For us that die, must once despair;
Therefore are they made most fair.
Ah! yes, she shall lie alone
Underneath a carven stone.
Then be merry while ye may
For to each shall come a day
When no pleasure shall be bought,
When no friend can guess our thought,
When all that has been, shall be nought.
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