Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies By H. B. [i.e. Henry Bold] |
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To the Virgins to make much of time.
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 | Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies |  |
To the Virgins to make much of time.
Gather your Rose-buds while you may,
Old time is still a flying,
And that same flower that smiles to day,
To morrow may be dying.
Old time is still a flying,
And that same flower that smiles to day,
To morrow may be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And neerer to his setting
That age is best which is the First,
When youth and old are warmer,
And being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while you may go marry,
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
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That age is best which is the First,
When youth and old are warmer,
And being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while you may go marry,
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
| Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | |